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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Beware of judges employing rhetoric: a note on Lord Denning and his “appalling vista”

3rd February 2023

Yesterday on this blog there was a quick post on the Tate Modern privacy/nuisance case – and I am delighted that I have now been commissioned by Prospect magazine to do an online in-depth analysis of this fascinating case about the clash of public spaces and private rights.

The point of the quick post yesterday was not to offer any considered view on the Tate Modern case (on which I actually have not formed a view) but to point to a conspicuous absence in the judgment.

It was odd that the famous speech of the former Master of the Rolls Lord Denning in the 1977 nuisance case of Miller v Jackson was not mentioned, and nor indeed was Denning himself, given this is one of the most famous speeches in the history of English law.

That speech begins as follows (and I have broken out the sentences):

“In summertime village cricket is the delight of everyone. 

“Nearly every village has its own cricket field where the young men play and the old men watch. 

“In the village of Lintz in County Durham they have their own ground, where they have played these last seventy years. 

“They tend it well. 

“The wicket area is well rolled and mown. 

“The outfield is kept short. 

“It has a good club-house for the players and seats for the onlookers. 

“The village team play there on Saturdays and Sundays.

“They belong to a league, competing with the neighbouring villages. 

“On other evenings after work they practice while the light lasts. 

“Yet now after these 70 years a Judge of the High Court has ordered that they must not play there anymore.

“He has issued an injunction to stop them. 

“He has done it at the instance of a newcomer who is no lover of cricket. 

“This newcomer has built, or has had built for him, a house on the edge of the cricket ground which four years ago was a field where cattle grazed. 

“The animals did not mind the cricket.

“But now this adjoining field has been turned into a housing estate. 

“The newcomer bought one of the houses on the edge of the cricket ground. 

“No doubt the open space was a selling point. 

“Now he complains that, when a batsman hits a six, the ball has been known to land in his garden or on or near his house. 

“His wife has got so upset about it that they always go out at weekends. 

“They do not go into the garden when cricket is being played. 

“They say that this is intolerable. 

“So they asked the Judge to stop the cricket being played. 

“And the Judge, I am sorry to say, feels that the cricket must be stopped: with the consequences, I suppose, that the Lintz cricket-club will disappear. 

“The cricket ground will be turned to some other use.

“I expect for more houses or a factory. 

“The young men will turn to other things instead of cricket.

“The whole village will be much the poorer. 

“And all this because of a newcomer who has just bought a house there next to the cricket ground.”

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The leading legal commentator Joshua Rozenberg agreed about this conspicuous absence on Twitter:

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In the post yesterday I mentioned that I was not a fan of Lord Denning as an appeal judge, though I conceded that one cannot deny his quality as a wordsmith.

(Please note that this adverse view is not about Denning as a person, about whom I have no idea, but about the content and style of his judgments.)

One day I may write a fuller account of this adverse view, but in essence I hold this view for three reasons.

First, it seems to me that Denning’s judgments are often triumphs of form – indeed of rhetoric – over legal substance.

(Indeed, when I once read many of Denning’s judgments in succession, it felt as if he was even sometimes the prisoner, and not the master, of his style of giving judgments.)

Second, his freestyle use of law and equity created a great deal of needless uncertainty in areas of law where certainty is important, especially at appellate level.

(And the usual argument that this was for achieving justice in individual cases really goes to his deftness as a legal rhetorician: for it is difficult when reading his judgments not to sympathise with the party Denning wanted to win – “of course” they should win.)

And third, it is because his rhetorically impressive judgments often cloaked a very illiberal approach to the law and the rights of individuals.

For example there is his notorious 1980 speech in the civil claim brought by the then-imprisoned (and later rightly exonerated) Birmingham Six.

Here I will quote from that speech more fully than usual, so that you can see hos slow rhetorical build-up (and I have again broken out the sentences):

“In this case at the “trial within a trial” there was an issue whether the police had been guilty of violence or threats towards the six men so that their confessions were not made voluntarily.

“The judge on the issue made a clear finding against the six men after a trial of eight days in which the six men had full and fair opportunity of being heard – and were in fact heard – and were represented by leading counsel.

“At the trial the same evidence about violence and threats was given all over again before the jury.

“If the jury had acquitted the six men, it would not be fair or just to hold that the finding of Bridge J. was binding on the six men in subsequent proceedings.

“But seeing that the jury convicted the six men, it is reasonable to suppose that they took the same view as Bridge J.

“In any case the issues are such that it would not be fair or just to allow the decision to be reopened by the six men.

“Just consider the course of events if this action were to proceed to trial. It will not be tried for 18 months or two years.

“It will take weeks and weeks.

“The evidence about violence and threats will be given all over again, but this time six or seven years after the event, instead of one year.

“If the six men fail, it will mean that much time and money and worry will have been expended by many people for no good purpose.

“If the six men win, it will mean that the police were guilty of perjury, that they were guilty of violence and threats, that the confessions were involuntary and were improperly admitted in evidence: and that the convictions were erroneous.

“That would mean that the Home Secretary would have either to recommend they be pardoned or he would have to remit the case to the Court of Appeal under section 17 of the Criminal Appeal Act 1968 .

“This is such an appalling vista that every sensible person in the land would say: It cannot be right that these actions should go any further.

“They should be struck out either on the ground that the six men are estopped from challenging the decision of Bridge J. or alternatively that it is an abuse of the process of the court.

“Whichever it is, the actions should be stopped.”

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Denning’s exercise in legal rhetoric is strikingly similar in style to his famous introduction to the 1977 case of Miller v Jackson.

But instead of the readers clapping and cheering, as most will do with the Miller v Jackson introduction, the only decent response to this Birmingham Six passage is disgust.

And this is why one should be wary of rhetoric in legal judgments – and indeed it is why we should be at our most vigilant when we find ourselves nodding-along with a rousing passage in any judgment – whether by Lord Denning or by any other judge.

Of course: judgments should be plain and succinct and comprehensible to non-lawyers.

But judges should leave the tools of persuasion to the advocates.

For if the judge has got the law right and the facts right, there is no need for the judge to also employ rhetorical devices so as to get you to nod-along with what they have decided.

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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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It is important that nobody pays “twice” for my content.

How the government won but also lost the court case on Rwanda removal policy

19th December 2022

Today the High Court handed down its judgment in respect of the many legal claims brought against the Rwanda removal policy.

On the face of it, the government of the United Kingdom appear to have won – and that is certainly how the judgment has been reported:

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But.

In two ways the government has not won, and indeed this may not be a welcome judgment for the government.

Let me explain.

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The wide legal challenge was to the policy.

In effect the policy is as follows: the Home Secretary can decide that asylum claims made in the United Kingdom should not be determined here, and that instead the persons who have made those claims should be removed to Rwanda to have their asylum claims determined there.

A legal challenge to any policy is always difficult – almost impossible.

This is partly because courts do not like intervening in matters of policy, as opposed to reviewing particular rules and individual decisions.

It is also partly because to say that a policy is unlawful means, in effect, that every possible rule made under that policy and every possible decision made under that policy will be unlawful.

And it is partly because policies can be adapted and modified so that the possibility of the policy itself always being unlawful can be avoided.

A policy is always the hardest target to hit in the administrative law courts.

It was therefore no great surprise that the High Court in this case – with a bench comprised of the two most experiences judges in administrative law matters – rejected the challenge to the policy as a whole.

And so, the government “won”.

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The government, however, also lost.

In the eight individual cases under review, the High Court decided that the removal decisions be quashed and the Home Secretary take the decisions again with proper regard to individual circumstances.

Look at the final paragraph carefully:

That paragraph indicates that the government lost on nineteen particular decisions in this case.

Nineteen.

Each of those nineteen decisions was legally flawed: every single one.

The policy may well be lawful – but in not one case was the policy lawfully applied.

And so the the government lost all the individual cases.

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Now we come to the real defeat for the government.

The import of the High Court decision is that in respect of each removal to Rwanda under the policy, the Home Office has to apply the policy in a robust and reasoned manner to the individual circumstances of each case in each of the decisions to be made.

Otherwise the removal will be successfully appealed or reviewed.

But for page after page of this judgment there is a catalogue of Home Office errors in respect of each of the cases.

The impression one forms reading the judgment as a whole is that, with the resources and administrative competence available, the Home Office simply is not capable of making all the individual decisions so that many removals to Rwanda are likely.

For the legal issue with decisions which need to be made on individual circumstances is that each decision can be appealed or otherwise legally challenged according to those circumstances.

Or to put it another way: the government has legally saved its Rwandan removal policy at the expense of making the lawful implementation of that policy extraordinarily resource-intensive and financially expensive.

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Of course, this judgment may be appealed by the claimants – though it seems at first read a strong judgment by two highly regarded judges in this field, and I do not think an appeal would be likely to succeed.

And so perhaps the policy under challenge may actually be implemented – though it seems there are no current plans to send any asylum seekers to Rwanda.

But.

Even if this policy is one day lawfully implemented – if – it will be always be an administrative and financial drain of the highest order on the Home Office and thereby the taxpayer.

Many will say that the policy is immoral and should be dropped on that basis alone.

Being immoral, however, does not make a policy unlawful.

But a policy being lawful also does not make it practicable.

The government and its supporters may raise a cheer that the policy is itself has been held to be not unlawful.

But today’s judgment means that – like the chartered flights to Rwanda last summer – the lawful implementation of the policy may never really get off the ground.

 

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What is the remedy? And why this question matters in public interest litigation.

6th December 2022

The Good Law Project has lost another court case.

This was the use by government of WhatsApp, about which there was political controversy.

But.

Towards the end of the judgment there are these two paragraphs (emphasis added):

70. In the light of our conclusions, both the appeal and the Good Law Project’s claim for judicial review should be dismissed. We should, however, record that when permission to apply for judicial review was granted the Good Law Project had made a serious allegation (based on claims from the former Chief Advisor) that fake meeting records and notes were being made. Such conduct, if proved, would have been unlawful on a number of different public law grounds. The conduct was not, however, proved and the allegation was dropped without clear notice to the Ministers or to the court, as appears from [15]–[18] of the judgment of the Divisional Court.

“71. Thereafter the focus of the claim shifted to the breach of the eight policies. It was not, however, clear, at least until the draft order was produced on the second day of the appeal, exactly what relief was being sought. It is true that the particulars of the policies and the evidence suggesting breaches of the policies were not available at the time that the claim form and statement of facts and grounds were prepared. It is, however, also right to note that the policies and the evidence about breaches were disclosed by the Ministers and became known during the proceedings. The Good Law Project amended its statement of facts and grounds accordingly. But the claim for relief remained unparticularised in the amended Statement of Facts and Grounds. The fact that a claimant is unable or unwilling to particularise the relief that they seek, may be an indication that the claim should not be pursued.

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This is a problem for a great deal of seemingly public interest litigation – and not just with this particular claimant.

(I think the GLP do some good things, though I am not an uncritical fan.)

There is a newsworthy wrong – a public grievance – and so somebody goes to court.

It is almost as if going to a court is an end in and of itself.

Litigation as theatre, or as therapy, or as a proxy for politics.

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But.

From a practical lawyers’ perspective, that approach is back-to-front.

As a trainee and as a junior litigation solicitor, I was taught to always think backwards from the remedy.

The primary questions were: What is the actual remedy your client is seeking? And how do you go about obtaining that remedy?

Turning up to court with a sense of “what do we ask for now?” means, in my view, there has been a failure in litigation tactics or strategy.

Of course: sometimes where you can show there is a plain wrong, a judge may come up with their own remedy.

This is the sort of thing Denning used to do.

But a claimant or applicant must always be conscious as to what they are actually asking for from a judge.

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This is not a problem about a particular claimant.

It is instead a wider problem about politically charged, crowd-funded and/or pressure group brought claims.

“We think this is wrong, so we are going to court!” is not sufficient.

What are you going to court for?

What are you asking the judge to do?

For as the judge here pointed out: “The fact that a claimant is unable or unwilling to particularise the relief that they seek, may be an indication that the claim should not be pursued.”

Public outrage does not mean, by itself, that a judge can grant a remedy – or even find any legal breach.

It is not always the case that where there is blame there is a claim.

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Prisons will not be reformed until and unless we rethink our views on punishment and retribution

2nd December 2022

Here is the introduction to a thing about prisons I wrote at the Financial Times in 2013:

We are all, of course, familiar with the notion of prisons – and many of us will have Very Strong Opinions about the lengths of custodial sentences:

“Six years! Eight years! Fifteen years! More, more!”

“Higher, higher, higher!”

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But.

For the reasons set out in that Financial Times piece, prisons are a strange as well as counter-productive idea for dealing with most crimes.

Prisons, generally speaking, are an expensive way of making bad people worse.

But the notion of incarceration is so deeply embedded in our collective consciousness it takes real effort to dislodge it.

It was not always like this.

In some earlier times, prisons were where you kept those charged with a crime until their cases could be heard and any sentences – capital, corporal, transportation – could be imposed.

Imprisonment itself was thereby a means to an end, rather than the punishment for criminal activity.

(The position for civil matters was different, with the debtors’ prisons, asylums and workhouses, all keeping certain undesirables out of the way.)

Around 1800 imprisonment became the normal punishment itself for crime – though for many onlookers the loss of liberty was not enough: prisons also had to be as miserable if not brutal as possible.

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And little, if any, thought is ever given to the (innocent) families and dependents of those incarcerated.

If they are thought about at all, it is with a shrug and a vague idea that it is the criminals who are to be blamed and/or that their (innocent) families and dependents are tainted by association.

And so that the innocent suffer becomes an output of the criminal justice system, as well as the protection of the innocent being the system’s supposed purpose.

The state has to destroy innocent lives, so as to protect them.

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There are at least two problems for any reform of prisons.

The first is that imprisonment is central to how society thinks about the punishment of crime.

A convicted person receiving a range of sanctions will still be described “as walking free from court” by outraged newspapers to their outraged readers.

The second is a consensus of what should replace imprisonment, especially given the popular view that retribution is the central purpose of punishment.

Of course, those who pose a danger to others or commit murders and other serious offences against the person should be locked away – and, unlike many liberals, I even support whole-life tariffs in exceptional circumstances.

But until and unless we rethink our views about punishment and retribution, the current expensive and damaging system will continue, for want of any alternative.

I was once asked what current day practice would be looked on in the future as akin to how we now see those who facilitated slavery.

My answer, more with hope than expectation, was: incarceration being considered the norm for punishments, with any alternative having to be justified.

Anyway, this post was triggered by reading this piece in the Guardian.

Let me know below what you think – about the points I set out above and the Guardian article, and what you think about prisons and imprisonment as punishment generally.

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Of “echo chambers” and “preaching to the converted”

10th November 2022

Some places – like courts and legislatures – have shared rules for discourse.

But courts and legislatures are not “echo chambers”.

Certain things are not readily said, and certain hard things are to be said softly.

This is not because there are not disputes – and some differences may be fundamental and life-changing.

It is because shared rules for discourse enable constructive engagements and facilitate important exchanges.

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But.

For some on the internet, the slightest suggestion that there can be shared rules for discourse triggers (ahem) the instant accusation that you want to be in an “echo chamber” or that you “want to preach to the converted” or want to be in “a bubble”.

These phrases – clichés – are usually substitutes for thought.

Yet so accustomed are many to the shoutiness and rancour of internet exchanges that the merest suggestion that there can be shared rules for discourse is seen as some sort of assault on “free speech”.

Shared rules are not, however, undermining of dialogue – they instead make meaningful dialogue possible.

Shouting at people – either in real life or on the internet – is a form of monologue, especially if it inhibits the other person from engaging, or saying something they would like to say.

As such the real echo chambers and preached at choirs are not platforms where there are shared rules, but places where such rules are disdained.

Places like Twitter.

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On this blog I will write things which a number of readers will disagree with: Brexit (where I am ultimately neutral in principle, though critical in practice), codified constitutions (where I am sceptical), electoral reform (where I am wary), and so on.

And the commenters on this blog – many of whom provide comments that are better quality and more informed/informative than my head post – will engage, often with other perspectives.

You can then form your own view.

Pre-moderation and my “irksome” rule prevents comments derailing the discussion.

(And, in practice, few comments are not published.)

As such, I do not think this blog is an “echo chamber”, or that I am “preaching to the converted” (though I sometimes wish I could convert more of you to my idiosyncratic views).

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In practice, accusations such as “echo chamber” and “preaching to the converted” can be rhetorical devices to shut down unwanted forms of discourse.

The important thing is that if you want a platform that suits you then you should be free to use a platform that suits you.

And do not be afraid of comments such as “echo chamber” and “preaching to the converted”.

Guest Post: Adam Wagner’s Emergency State reviewed by the legendary police blogger Nightjack

18th October 2022

The legal blogger Adam Wagner has written a book about the coronavirus regulations.

But the internet does not need another post by one legal blogger saying another legal blogger is wonderful, and so I asked someone else to review it.

Richard Horton was a police sergeant in Lancashire tasked with making sense of and enforcing the regulations on a daily basis, and so I asked him to do the review.

Horton also happens to be the legendary former police blogger known as Nightjack, winner of the Orwell Prize in 2009 – and it is a great honour for this blog to publish his guest post.

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Emergency State by Adam Wagner

Review by Richard Horton

 

A few years ago I was a jobbing Police Sergeant on a response team in South Lancashire. My hair was short, my beard was goatee and life was good, busy, but good.

Enter stage left the wily Chief Inspector of my parish with a cunning plan. “Richard” he said, “we have a job that needs doing at Licensing Sergeant. Could you take it on?

I was on the far side of 50 with a borked right knee. Retirement was only a few years away. The joys of managing an ever increasing workload with ever decreasing resources and dealing with the belligerent antisocial at weekends were beginning to fade.

I was being offered one of those fabled “glide path to retirement” jobs.  This was the Licensing Department, a small team that knew the job better than me, lots of meetings, the occasional licence review. This was the job to see me out to my pension, and all I had to do was to get my head round the Licensing Act.

Of course I snatched his arm off.

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I settled into the new post fairly quickly. There was a first month punctuated by my wise staff coughing gently and saying “Errm Sarge, you can’t actually do that” and I was lucky enough to do some barrister-led training in licensing.

I had my feet underneath me, everything was going well and then March 2020 happened.

From then on, my colleagues and I had to operate in a rapidly mutating landscape of laws and regulations that soon resembled the hedge in Sleeping Beauty.

The world had caught a virus and here in England, the Government tried to take control.

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Nightly, ministers appeared on radio and television making policy pronouncements about the State of Emergency. From the start, there was a disconnect between what was being said and what was being written into the regulations.

On one notorious occasion, a local night club operator understood this and used better reading and barrister advice on those regulations to stay open until the last possible minute when the local council and I had convinced ourselves that the venue should close.

My team and I would literally huddle round our little office radio waiting for the latest press conference. I would wait expectantly for the publication of each iteration of the regulations. We then had to go out and enforce this stuff.

The simple life of a Licensing Sergeant was suddenly complicated. I vividly remember right at the start taking a police van out along the Merseyside border to check on some outlying pubs. I passed many groups of people, families as far as I could tell, who were going on a walk  for exercise. In many cases they looked very uncomfortable seeing a police van approach. I just smiled and waved. Some smiled and waved back. Some didn’t. It felt very strange.

Despite my best efforts, I could not reconcile the briefings to what was coming out in the regulations. Guidance from above was still some distance away. Policing was taking a “let a hundred flowers bloom” approach to enforcement. Things were getting muddled.

I thought I understood what it all meant. I became a sort of one eyed go-to for colleagues but in truth I just was not sure.

Into that chaos stepped Adam Wagner, a human rights barrister at Doughty Street Chambers. He was doing the hard work of reading, understanding and explaining the Coronavirus regulations for the rest of us. It came as some relief to have his work as a reference that proved more reliable and helpful than any amount of briefing and policy announcements.

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Almost inevitably, having stepped into the very centre of the storm, Wagner has now written a book about the State of Emergency and called it Emergency State.

As a history of the times it struck me as entirely accurate. As I read the book there were may moments where I was right back in the Licensing Office reading the latest regulation and thinking “Umm, OK, how are we going to make this work? Actually can we make this work?”

What was a substantial meal? Did a Scotch Egg count? Was the rule of 6 households, acquaintances, indoor, outdoor, socially distanced, masked? What distance was a social distance?  How loud could you sing at the karaoke? Was it a nightclub or a multi-use licensed venue? What actually was a nightclub? What parts of my responsibilities were in what tier?

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As soon as my copy of Emergency State arrived I was inevitably drawn to pages 66-68 of the book, Police – understanding of rules.

Wagner dip sampled police officers on their understanding of the regulations and as I feared, he found that the unenforceable guidance had been rolled up into the law by some of my colleagues.

He is generally sympathetic to our plight but rightly points out that in the State of Confusion, many people were given police instructions that were not based on any legal power and many fixed penalty notices were given out that should not have been.

This is important stuff when the police had been given such great power and authority. Policing should learn from this because in the cold light of hindsight, it will diminish our legitimacy.

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From the beginning Wagner sets out that this was a real emergency. There was a virus, it was killing many people, there was no cure, little effective treatment and no vaccine. There was a real prospect of NHS resources being overwhelmed.

He doesn’t claim any special medical knowledge but he understood early the value of bringing his experience and knowledge as a barrister to bear on getting a proper understanding of the scope and power of each development of the Coronavirus regulations. It is a balanced and thorough view. Many times as a I read Emergency State I found myself thinking “Yes Adam but….” only to find that my but was addressed a few paragraphs later.

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The book is helpfully organised chronologically with each chapter headed up by the relevant dates and poignantly the cumulative Coronavirus death toll.

Chapter 6 – Patchwork Summer took me back to that incredibly good summer in 2020 when I spent time patrolling parks with local council staff because there was a local political opinion that somehow groups of people gathering legally in a public park to enjoy picnics and cold beers from the local off licences was a thing to be stopped. Those gatherings were not stopped but we had to look.

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If I had to pick one chapter to survive it would be Chapter 8 – Step By Step.

We should never forget “Partygate” and Wagner sets out persuasive evidence that inside government, things were much closer to the Versailles court of the Sun King than to say, Battle of Britain era Fighter Command.

I read this chapter with a near constant smile. Who had kept all the receipts? Who knew what regulations were being flouted on which dates? Who could definitively say “You broke your own regulations, the ones that you made”? Who could point out that the Metropolitan Police policy on retrospective enforcement of the regulations explicitly allowed and indeed encouraged retrospective investigations into something like “Partygate”?

This comes as a conclusion to one of Wagner’s central themes that for about two years there was an exercise in strong use of state power with very little effective scrutiny. As a country we largely rolled with it but those thorny thickets of regulation  were often poorly thought out, impractical and unfair. All the while, behind the palace walls there was hedonistic exceptionalism.

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As I read this book, I could always feel Wagner setting out his evidence and heading towards conclusions. It is well written and accessible and it has to be to coherently draw together the ratcheting of fiat law into everything from the public joy of a walk in the country to the private joy of the bedroom. This is no dry legal telling of the tale. It takes the reader back into the daily history, the tragedies and the fear of Coronavirus. It has a narrative that you can feel.

If I were to clumsily summarise it, I would say that a State of Emergency was necessary but we somehow ended up with an Emergency State.

There are lessons to be learned about keeping that state in some sort of effective balance and on this occasion neither the courts or the legislature were particularly effective.

We (mostly) willingly surrendered many freedoms and although they were eventually returned to us, a blueprint for making further lock downs and restrictions on our freedoms with weak scrutiny and little ongoing accountability is now known. Without scrutiny and accountability we may be left solely reliant on the wisdom and responsibility of our state which is a bad thing.  Will those lessons be remembered when we pass this way again?

Probably not I think but if they are, this book Emergency State will be a good start for anybody that wants to know what really happened and more importantly, how it happened.

Richard Horton

TAFKA NightJack

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The curious incident of the “absolutely devastating” Johnson legal opinion is now even curiouser

27th September 2022

You will recall the “absolutely devastating” legal opinion provided for the then prime minister Boris Johnson.

This was in respect of the work of inquiry of the House of Commons privileges committee into whether Johnson had committed a contempt of parliament in respect of his seemingly misleading statements on the floor of the house.

On 1st September 2022, it was reported on a newspaper website:

“An insider said of the QC’s legal advice: ‘It is absolutely devastating.’”

And on the front page of that newspaper’s print edition dated 2 September 2022 we were told:

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This would have been huge, if true.

The capital-o Opinion in question was this – signed by two barristers as instructed by a leading criminal firm of solicitors.

The Opinion is also dated the same day as the newspaper website article: 1 September 2022.

This must mean that the source of the “absolutely devastating” quote either was referring to a draft form of the Opinion or was providing a view the same day that the Opinion was signed.

We now know that the cost of this legal advice was between £112,700 and £129,500 of taxpayers’ money, as the following tender information was published by the government on 2 September 2022:

(Hat-tip Aubrey Allegretti, here and here.)

This tender information indicates there was no competitive procurement exercise: the government seems to have gone straight to the leading criminal defence firm in early August 2022.

That firm, in turn, instructed two public law barristers (not criminal law specialists).

What is remarkable about this procurement is that the government has its own legal service, with many specialists on matters of parliamentary procedure.

(Which is obvious, if you think about it, given the close working relationship between departments and Parliament.)

There is no obvious good reason, if this was a governmental matter (rather than a matter for Johnson as a Member of Parliament) why this advice could not have been arranged by the government legal service who would have instructed barristers on the Treasury panel.

Indeed, it is odd that this was not done – especially as the junior barrister involved is already on the Treasury panel.

Why were the instructions routed through an external law firm and not the Treasury Solicitor – especially as this is not a criminal law matter?

Who authorised this procurement and use of public money?

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Indeed, as this blog has already averred, it is not obvious that this was a legal matter at all, let alone a criminal law matter.

The matter is entirely one of parliamentary procedure – and is not thereby justiciable by any court.

In my view there is even force in the argument that the Opinion does not contain any legal opinion.

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We now know that on 2 September 2022 – the day after the Opinion was dated and the “absolutely devastating” quote was given to the newspaper – that Johnson wrote to the privileges committee:

One curious point here is that he refers to a previous letter to the committee of 12 August 2022 – which is four days after the date of the end procurement law advice, see:

This must mean that the decision to procure external legal advice preceded his letter of 12 August 2022, and so presumably that letter was also informed by the external advice obtained.

You will also see in this letter that Johnson says that “[i]n light of the exceptional circumstances and to ensure public and Parliamentary scrutiny” that he was “placing a copy of the legal opinion in the Library of the House and on the gov.uk website`’.

This is odd.

For as the expert in parliamentary procedure Alexander Horne points out:

There can be no good reason why the Opinion was not just submitted to the committee without publicity – especially if the content of the Opinion was genuinely “absolutely devastating”.

Johnson mentions that he is publishing the letter on the government website [i]n light of the exceptional circumstances and to ensure public and Parliamentary scrutiny” .

But these “ exceptional circumstances” are not particularised, and the committee itself is the means of “public and Parliamentary scrutiny”.

The only plausible explanation that fits the available information is that the Opinion was published on the government website so as to place media and public pressure on the privileges committee.

This would explain how the Opinion went from being finalised, the “absolutely devastating” quote being given to the media, the sending of the 2 September 2022 letter and the publication of the Opinion the same day:Given that publishing the Opinion would mean that legal professional privilege may have been waived (to the extent that the Opinion was covered by legal professional privilege in the first place), and given it would also mean that the Opinion would also not be covered by parliamentary privilege, the publication of the Opinion on the government website was a high-risk strategy.

The only explanation I can think for this is that the Opinion was commissioned by Johnson for the purpose of that publication.

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As this blog set out, the Opinion is not strong.

This is not just my view as a random legal blogger, but also that of the professor of public law at the University of Cambridge.

Indeed, there cannot be many weaker legal opinions that have ever been published.

That the Opinion was weak has now also been stated by the parliamentary committee itself, in a special report on the Opinion.

The committee in a mere six pages of its report refutes (and not just rebuts) the twenty-two page Opinion.

The committee’s report is, well, absolutely devastating.

The language is extraordinarily strong for such a report – for example, at paragraph 12:

“We consider this concern to be wholly misplaced and itself misleading.”

At paragraph 6, the committee says the Opinion“is founded on a systemic misunderstanding of the parliamentary process and misplaced analogies with the criminal law”.

And so on.

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Caption: legal commentators reading the committee report

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The committee, which is being advised by a former Lord Justice of Appeal who was president of the tribunal service (who can be expected to know about procedural fairness), could not have been more brutal about the merits of the Opinion.

And this is a committee which has Conservative members as well as opposition members.

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This whole exercise is rather strange.

This blogpost, like the previous blogpost, has not named the lawyers – and this is because we simply do not know what their respective instructions were.

And, as such, it would be unfair to name them in this context.

This is not just libel-speak – and there is nothing in this post which should make you think worse of any of the lawyers involved.

A lawyer is only as good as their instructions.

Instead the criticism should be for Johnson, who appears to have sought to bring media and public pressure to bear on the privileges committee by using public money to procure an opinion to be placed on the government’s website.

There was no obvious reason why this was a matter for the taxpayer, and there is no good reason why the Opinion was published on gov.uk on 2 September 2022.

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Perhaps the committee will find there was no contempt.

Perhaps the matter will just go away.

Perhaps there will be a political feeling that the former Prime Minister has been punished enough.

Who knows.

But what is certain is that there should be fresh consideration of the procurement of and publication of legal opinions by ministers (of any party).

Something rather irregular happened here, and it is not the sort of thing which should happen again.

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The magical thinking of Donald Trump

22nd September 2022

A theme of this blog is that law is akin to magic, and that law and lore have a good deal in common.

For example:

But the comparison is only made as a-kind-of-analogy.

I never thought that when writing about law in modern times I would come across actual magical thinking.

I was wrong.

Consider this:

Here the proposition is not that Trump could unilaterally, by some form of words, either in writing or said aloud, change the classification of documents.

The proposition is that by thinking a thing, with that thought having no other trace or manifestation, then a classification of a document can change.

This would mean that the legal consequences for other people with reference to that document would be different, even though there was no record of Trump’s thoughts, because Trump had thought one thing or another.

And, presumably, Trump can classify the document by thoughts alone, as well as de-classify it.

Perhaps he could even in turns classify and de-classify a document every few moments, and nobody would ever know.

It would be an extraordinary thing – even supernatural and paranormal.

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Of course, what is (probably) going on is that Trump is resorting to the only defence he thinks he has left, which accords with the evidence.

There is no actual evidence of de-classification, then his explanation needs to deal with that absence.

There is also the implicit point that if he accepts these are documents which he “de-classified” then they were not “planted” – as that defence would seem to contradict his purported “de-classification”.

It is all very odd.

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Stepping back, it would seem Trump has realised that he is in serious legal jeopardy.

If anyone else had been found with such classified documents without authority or lawful excuse then that person would no doubt have been arrested and charged, convicted and imprisoned.

The only difference here is whether the law applies to Trump as it applies to others.

Or is there a legal privilege for Trump?

This is a hard question for the rule of law: is there one law (or lack of law) for him and one for others?

Perhaps following his exercise in magical thinking, Trump would accept criminal liability if enough people think that he is guilty?

Or perhaps not: one suspects he would want to rely on real-world law and procedure, where things are properly written down and recorded.

For that is the thing about those who want to be above the law: they wish to dispense with legal formalities when it suits them, but they certainly want the protection of legal formalities when it protects them.

 

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