Constitutionalism – The Law and Policy Blog

Supporting Donald Trump is too much for Richard Cheney

7th September 2024

Back in the halcyon days of that golden age of when politics seemed kind of normal, there was no greater illiberal pantomime villain than Vice President Richard Cheney.

(Of course, halcyon days and golden ages never existed, for that is a trick of our memories and histories.)

Richard Cheney was – and perhaps still is – a believer in something that is called ‘unitary executive theory’. This is a bundle of ideas that even has its own Wikipedia page:

In effect: the doctrine is about there being few limits – or at least few meaningful limits – to the sheer executive power of the United States presidency – and vice presidency.

(Note the word ‘executive’ there – it does not necessarily mean trespassing on legislative and judicial powers, though it does mean limiting the scope of legislative and judicial powers.)

There are even academic articles about Richard Cheney and this approach:

Richard Cheney is about as far from being a liberal constitutionalist as one can imagine, at least in terms of theory and principle.

But.

Yesterday came the astonishing news, initially through his daughter (the brave and estimable) Elizabeth Cheney, that the former Vice President is not supporting the former President Donald Trump in the latter’s attempt at re-election and will instead be voting for Democtratic candidate (and current Vice President) Kamala Harris.

This has now been confirmed directly from Richard Cheney himself:

Of course: there is a distinction between what one does with power and how one gets that power.

One can believe in the widest executive powers for a President (and Vice President) once elected, but still (genuinely) believe in a democratic process so as to obtain those powers. Indeed, there is a conceptual connection in that the wide executive powers are (somehow) justified by the democratic mandate.

And if you look carefully at Richard Cheney’s reported remarks, his objection is primarily to Trump’s abuse of the election process, and not to the abuses of presidential power itself.

In effect: yes you can have those wide powers, but you need to obtain them properly.

Yet, this is still quite the turn-up.

Once upon a time, liberals worried about the wide powers of a Vice President Cheney – and of a President Bush.

And now, in turn, illiberals like Vice President Cheney are worried about the undemocratic pretensions of a President Trump.

This is an interesting and significant development.

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This week’s skirmish between the European Commission and X

17th August 2024

Law and politics are ultimately about how power is allocated and exercised within a given complex society. In particular, law and politics are about how such power is legitimised and about how it is checked and balanced.

And from time to time you will have visible contests between those with different types of power. The job of law and politics is then to regulate such contests so as to ensure that tensions do not harden into the contradictions that undermine the health of a polity.

These contests of power, when they happen, are fascinating.

Over at Prospect I have written a post about one such contest: the European Commission v X.

The latter has considerable media power: so much so that the content of its platform can often have a considerable real-world impact.

But the former also has considerable power – in the formulation of the laws that apply to the platform in the European Union and in the application of those laws in particular circumstances.

It is quite the stand-off.

When the European Commissioner responsible for the Single Market tweeted a letter last week, it reminded me of an earlier stand-off.

It evoked the stand-off in 1930-31 between the then government of the United Kingdom and the then popular press over tariff reform and imperial preference (the Brexit issue of its day).

That was a stand-off which, at least in the short-term, the government won.

(Tariffs were introduced later in the 1930s, though not directly because of media pressure.)

Often these tensions are hidden and managed out of public view, and so it is always interesting – and instructive – when they are done in public.

Something is up.

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Seven changes for a better constitution? Some interesting proposals from some good people.

24th June 2024

In the Times today there is a letter published from various good sorts putting forward seven practical and easy-to-make steps for a better constitution.

One of the signatories, David Anderson, helpfully posted the letter on Twitter:

Of course, changes to form and structure can only take us so far. The biggest problem of recent years has been an underlying lack of constitutionalism from government ministers (cheered and clapped by their political supporters). And until attitudes change, then rules will always be gamed or ignored and discretions abused.

But, there has to be a start somewhere to repair the damage, and these are interesting proposals.

The suggestions appear to be:

independent enforcement of a new ministerial code;
establishing new systems for managing conflicts of interest;
ditto, for lobbying;
improving regulation of post-government employment;
ensuring appointments to the Lords are only made on merit;
ensuring other public appointments are rigorous and transparent; and
strengthening the independence of the honours system, including by ending prime ministerial patronage.

The worthies aver that legislation is not necessary for most of these changes but a short bill would create the necessary powers and embed the independence of the ethics and integrity system.

Some may say that these proposals are a little “apple pie” – but they would be a move in the right direction, the least that can be done.

Words like “ensuring” and “strengthening” are easy to type – and they are almost as easy to put at the start of a sterling bullet point.

But what is the actual check on misuse? Who in practice will have the power and authority to say “No” to a trespass by a minister of the crown (or by a former minister of the crown)?

The robustness of any regulatory system is not so much in the rules being themselves commendable, but in the rigorous enforcement of those rules and in the ready and realistic availability of sanctions for breach.

In a word: there needs to be tension.

And in our constitutional arrangements, as they stand, only parliament and the courts – rather than third party agencies – have the strength and the legitimacy to check the executive on an ongoing basis, and so for each of these seven laudable aims, one question is how they can be enforced against the government’s will by other strong and permanent elements of the state.

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Of majorities and “super-majorities”

21st June 2024

The greatest prize that the constitution of the United Kingdom can bestow is a substantial parliamentary majority at a general election.

With such a majority you can be confident to pass major legislation, not worry too much about backbench opposition, and even face down the House of Lords.

And so one of the most remarkable things about the current government – which brought about its own emphatic general election victory in December 2019 by (among other things) “Getting Brexit Done” is how little use it has made of this great prize.

Some people are suggesting that after this next general election (in less than two weeks now) the Conservative may now be out of government for a very long time. Who knows? But if so, that will be a lengthy period for the politically-right-of-centre to kick themselves for not having used their chance to drive through fundamental reforms when they had it.

Many people would find it difficult to name – other than Brexit – one fundamental reform which current government has driven through with primary legislation. The last few Queen’s and now King’s speeches have been limp affairs.

All that political and legislative power – as close to absolute power that our constitutional arrangements can admit – and nothing, or close to nothing.

Given that part of the reason for the Brexit referendum and for then “getting Brexit done” was for the political advantage of the Conservatives, it seems odd. What was the (party political) point? All that chaos and dislocation, for this?

In the early 1990s the Conservatives lost their overall majority under John Major and then were out of office from 1997 – and in a long haul, and via a coalition, they eventually gained an overall majority only in 2015.

They promptly threw that away in 2017.

They then exploited an exceptional political situation in December 2019 and got that majority back, and then did nothing much with it.

And now that second chance at an overall majority is about to end.

Over at Prospect – please click here to read – I have done a post on the fears of a Labour “super majority”.

But what Tories should fear is not the use of a “super majority” but just the effective use of a sustainable and substantial parliamentary majority.

And that can be quite the forceful thing, not that the outgoing government ever really cared to use it.

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The coming constitutional excitements in the United States

The last post over at my Substack was fairly UK-centric – indeed Anglocentric – in its approach to the issue of constitutional crises.

That post averred that we do not often have constitutional crises in the United Kingdom though we (too) frequently have constitutional dramas and excitements. But it also warned that we are never far from a constitutional crisis, and that only self-restraint and deference to checks and balances have stopped constitutional tensions converting into contradictions.

Glancing at the United States, however, the situation appears to be far more serious. Over the Atlantic there seems to be a fundamental threat to constitutionalism, the effects of which may become very obvious in the coming year.

A few years ago, a complacent liberal might have assured you that in a democracy the perils of illiberalism could be dealt with in two simple ways.

First: politically one could defeat illiberals by winning struggles within political parties and by winning elections between political parties.

Like the proverbial poor, illiberals are always with us, but they could be kept away from power by gatekeepers and electoral prowess.

But what happens when the gatekeepers fall away and then the legitimacy of elections is itself contested? When the electoral wells are poisoned?

This is the immense problem created by the Trumpite lie about the “stolen election”. What good is defeating illiberals in a general elections – and being seen to defeat illiberals by sizeable votes – if the legitimacy of those elections is denied?

The old certainty that the best way to defeat illiberals is by defeating them at the ballot box is no longer sound if the ballot box is not respected.

Second: even if the illiberals gained executive or legislative power, the individual would still have the protections of their civil liberties as guaranteed by an independent judiciary. In this way the minority would be protected against any apparent majoritarianism.

But what if the very notions of civil liberties and of an independent judiciary are also trashed? What if the systems of rights and of their enforcement are, like elections, robbed of their legitimacy?

Here the illiberals are fighting the second front of their overall campaign. Just as electoral verdicts against them are dismissed, so are judicial verdicts. Their objective is to have no constraints on what they can when they have power, to have nobody who can say “no”.

Of course, the illiberals have not so far won either of these battles. Trump and his supporters are still out of presidential power, whatever they say about elections results. Illiberals have also not discredited the systems of rights and their enforcement (and indeed they have mixed feelings, given they often wish to rely on their “right to bear arms” – as they interpret it).

But these parameters of constitutional action are being continuously contested, even if they are not yet destructed.

If the results of elections are not accepted, and if the rulings of the courts are respected, then the conventional political and judicial checks on illiberalism may be insufficient.

And if so, what happens?

Nobody knows – and even best guesses may not be accurate. Like Withnail and Marwood, we could be drifting into the arena of the unwell, making enemies of our future.

This post was prompted by the discussions about whether Trump should be disallowed on various ballots by reason of his participation as an “insurrectionist”.

Such an huge intervention would have implications.

The normal inclination would be to oppose such a restriction on political choice: that the way to defeat Trump is at the ballot box and, if then appropriate, in the courts that apply electoral law.

But, comes the response, what if Trump and his supporters flatly reject the legitimacy of the ballot box and the courts applying election law? What if that standard liberal constitutionalist stance is no longer valid?

It is a difficult if not impossible question to answer, at least by the application of usual liberal principles.

And so the new year is going to be interesting.

2024 has the potential to be a very exciting year constitutionally.

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

Brace.

Best wishes for the new year, and thank you for your support and following.

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.

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.

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.

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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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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.)

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.

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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Threads – remembering an influential moment in that 1984 film

6 July 2023

Threads is the the social media platform of the day.

(My Threads account is here – and the early impressions are positive, though further functionality needs to be added, but it is a marked improvement on the Hell-site that Twitter has become.)

But for those of us of a certain age and from a certain place Threads has another meaning:

The film had an immense influence on me when showed at school, though not one which seems to be shared by others.

My school was a south Birmingham 1980s comprehensive, and the well-meaning, earnest progressive teachers no doubt intended that the film would make us think about the issues of nuclear war.

As it happened, the depicted post-war apocalypse was nothing compared to the sort of things I was reading about anyway (though I am sure I really shouldn’t have been doing), and so almost all the film left me unfazed.

But.

There was one moment which stuck with me, with force, and it has shaped my political and legal thinking ever since (to the extent that my political and legal ponderings warrants being called “thinking”).

By way of background, part of the film is about some people in a bunker who were in charge – or at least regarded themselves as in charge.

All the bunker scenes have been collected here:

And in that bunker they had telephones.

Proper, bulky desk telephones, not what we have now.

And via those telephones the important people in the bunker requested things and gave orders.

That was how those in control were to keep in control – telephony was the means of transmission and obtaining intelligence.

Telephony was the – ahem – thread that kept those who governed in charge of those who were governed.

*Spoiler Warning*

Those in the bunker die, pretty much unnoticed by the survivors of the nuclear strike.

Eventually some come to dig them out.

And there is this moment as the torch light goes around the bunker.

Corpses, and dust, and broken things.

And also a redundant telephone:

For some reason the sight of that redundant telephone stuck with me more than any of the special effects or make-up and horrific images and awful sounds.

I could not stop thinking about it.

What happens when those who are supposedly in charge no longer have the means of being in charge?

For in any large human grouping those in charge cannot do it by personal, face-to-face dominance alone, there needs to be methods of communication and means of control.

And those methods and means are precarious, and so they cannot be taken for granted either by those who govern or by those who are governed.

About this time in the mid-1980s I also became fixated by this image in a book I had about kings and queens, which I have featured a few times in my blogging:

The combination of the Threads telephone and this Thackeray picture led me to a lifelong preoccupation about constitutions and language and images and law – about how one small group of people in one place actually get to exert day-to-day power over people in other places.

How does this actually, practically work?

And so I ended up as a lawyer and commentator.

Of course, those with power can always resort to coercion and lethal force – but short of this last resort, there are norms and systems and lore and laws which provide how we govern and are are governed.

So how are these threads crafted and put in place, and how are they maintained and repaired?

And these systems and methods of communication and means of control can sometimes just go: whether by technical failures, or even by the loss of legitimacy and authority.

The threads can snap – or they can be cut.

And then what happens?

Well.

Thank you for indulging me and letting me share my Threads anecdote. As today is Threads day, one way or another, I thought this would be the best time to tell it.

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