Category: Courts and the administration of justice

Private nuisance and Tate Modern

13th February 2023

Over at Prospect I have an article about the Tate Modern privacy case.

Click here (even if you do not read it).

As the article shows, I am no fan of either the new Tate Modern building or the blocks of flats facing it.  I have always thought it is better to live inside an ugly building looking at a nice building, rather than living in a nice building looking at an ugly building, and the sad predicament in the Tate Modern case is that you have two ugly buildings facing each other.

And like many people, I instinctively sided with the art gallery, as at least the public gallery was a public good, and that offset the private inconveniences of the wealthy leaseholders.

But.

As I read the case reports carefully, and the majority opinion of the Supreme Court in particular, I found it hard to legally fault the final decision:

– High Court decision

– Court of Appeal decision

– Supreme Court decision

If there is to be a law of private nuisance then this seems to be the correct application of that law.

My lingering reaction is to wish that only privacy rights were as easy to enforce in non-property cases.

Anyway, you can read the article here – and please comment below.

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Whole Life Orders when there is not loss of life

10th February 2023

Although this blog is written generally from a liberal perspective, I do not object – in principle – to whole life orders for exceptional offences.

Other liberals would contend that no prisoner should face the prospect of never being released, to have all hope removed – and that to put a person in this position is in and of itself a cruel and unusual punishment, a form of torture.

But although this blog is deeply sceptical of imprisonment as a routine punishment, there seems to me to be a special category of offenders whose offences mean they should literally have a life sentence.

If whole life sentences, however, are available, one question which arises is whether such sentences should be limited to murderers.

And this question has, again, been prompted by the sentencing of David Carrick.

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The estimable legal blogger and criminal barrister Matthew Scott has set out why the sentence for Carrick of thirty-two years is correct.

Scott tells us that the reasoning of the judge as set out in her sentencing remarks is “unassailable”.

Given he is an experienced criminal barrister and I am not (and neither will be most of you) then we should defer to his expertise.

But “unassailable” was not the view I formed when I read the sentencing remarks.

Instead my immediate reaction was that the reasoning was not compelling.

In paragraph 32 of the sentencing remarks, the judge says:

“I have assessed very carefully whether given your abuse of position this case should attract a whole life order.”

In paragraph 35 of the remarks, the judge then says:

“The stand out feature is the element of abuse of the status of a police constable but having considered the matter with care I have come to the same conclusion as the prosecution. Of the utmost gravity though this is, the “wholly exceptional circumstances” test is not met.”

What confused me was that in the Wayne Couzens case, the Court of Appeal held (emphasis added):

It provides for its unique and defining feature, which was that Couzens had used his knowledge and status as a police office to perpetrate his appalling crimes against Ms Everard and for the extensive and extreme nature of the other aggravating features which were present: the significant and cold-blooded planning and pre-meditation; the abduction of Ms Everard; the most serious sexual conduct; the mental and physical suffering inflicted on Ms Everard before her death; and the concealment and attempts to destroy Ms Everard’s body.

We agree with the judge that having determined there should be a whole life order, given the misuse of Couzens’ role as a police officer and the serious aggravating features of the offending the guilty pleas did not affect the outcome.

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It seemed to me that if the Couzens’ role as a police officer meant that what otherwise would be a long term sentence was converted into a whole life order then it would follow that the same would be the case for Carrick.

Against this view, the Crown Prosecution Service in the Carrick case made a point of not seeking a whole life order, and I did not immediately understand this concession, and nor why the judge went along with it.

But now, looking again at the authorities, I can see why Scott is (probably) right and – unsurprisingly – why my instinct was (probably) wrong.

Let me explain.

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On the face of it, the legislation permitting whole life orders is not limited to murder or any other offence:

S. 321. Life sentence: minimum term order or whole life order

(1) Where a court passes a life sentence, it must make an order under this section.

(2) The order must be a minimum term order unless the court is required to make a whole life order under subsection (3).

(3) The order must be a whole life order if—

(a) [in effect, the offender is over 21], and

(b) the court is of the opinion that, because of the seriousness of— (i) the offence, or (ii) the combination of the offence and one or more offences associated with it, it should not make a minimum term order.

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This means as long as the conditions in section 3(a) and 3(b) are ticked then there can be a whole life order.

There is no mention of any particular offence.

But in a 2020 case the Lord Chief Justice sitting with the other senior criminal appeals judges considered whether non-murderers would ever meet the threshold for a whole life sentence.

The Court of Appeal said (in a passage which I have broken up for flow):

We endorse the line of authority which does not shut the door to a whole life tariff in a case not involving murder.

The infinite variety of circumstances which give rise to serious offending make it impossible to identify such cases in advance, but we give an indication of the circumstances that might justify such a sentence.

We can envisage circumstances where murders of similar exceptionally high seriousness […] are substantively planned to a point close to execution (conspiracy to murder or attempted murder) but the crime does not occur because the enterprise is foiled or prevented by some fortuitous intervening event.

Examples might include when a bomb planted on a commercial airliner fails to explode or does so without causing sufficient damage to bring it down; similarly, a bomb in a public place does not achieve the wicked aim of those who planned or planted it; or intervention by the authorities prevents an act of mass-murder.

There will be other cases that do not involve a planned homicide of this kind which will merit a discretionary whole life term but, as Lord Phillips observed in Neil Jones, when they occur the need for such a sentence will be clear.

Otherwise, a determinate term of appropriate length will meet the requirements of retribution and punishment.

The offending in the cases of McCann and Sinaga, very serious indeed though it is does not, in our judgment, call for either to receive a whole life tariff.

This is not to minimise the seriousness of their offending but instead to ensure that the most severe sentence in our jurisdiction is reserved, save exceptionally, either for the most serious cases involving loss of life, or when a substantive plan to murder of similar seriousness is interrupted close to fulfilment.

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So if a whole life order can be imposed when there has not been loss of life – but normally it should be where there was a plan to murder which somehow failed.

If this is the settled and firm view of the court of appeal – and the sheer seniority of the judges on that panel would indicate that should be taken to be the Court of Appeal’s policy, then we can see why the Crown Prosecution Service and the judge in the Carrick case did not seek or consider a whole life order.

Yes, a whole life order can be imposed where there is not loss of life – but not even in a case like Carrick, notwithstanding the misuse of the defendant’s misuse of his police status.

Indeed, it would appear that the misuse of the police status was instrumental in getting Carrick to the starting point of a sixty year sentence which, after the “credit” for his guilty plea, and a reduction to take account of what period a life prisoner would otherwise spend out of prison on licence, ended up with the minimum of thirty-two years to be served.

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You may think that despite the Court of Appeal setting out the exceptional circumstances where a non-murderer can get a whole life order, one should have been imposed in Carrick’s case.

Or you may think that given the age of Carrick, it is academic whether it is a thirty-two year sentence or a whole life order.

Or you may have another view.

My own normative view is that the Court of Appeal has set too narrowly the sort of cases that warrant a whole life order, and that if misuse of his position as a police officer was enough to convert Couzens’ sentence to a whole life order then the same should have been the case for Carrick.

But practical law is not normative but positive, and you have to take the law as it is, and not what you would like it to be; and the Court of Appeal’s policy on whole life orders meant that neither the Crown Prosecution Service nor the trial judge were in a position to seriously seek or consider a whole life order in this case.

And, for the reasons Scott gives in his post, it is indeed unlikely that the Court of Appeal will shift its position if Carrick’s sentence is referred to it as being “unduly lenient”.

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

 9th February 2023

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

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

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

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

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

Incredible, if true.

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

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

What will law students and pundits do?

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

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

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

How should the courts deal with this situation?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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This was exhilarating, provocative stuff.

And it was utter flapdoodle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But the Supreme Court was unimpressed by the Thoburn point.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Academic.”

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

“Even if”

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

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

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

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

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

Or has it?

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

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

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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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.

*

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.

*

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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Comments Policy

This blog enjoys a high standard of comments, many of which are better and more interesting than the posts.

Comments are welcome, but they are pre-moderated and comments will not be published if irksome.

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!”

*

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.

*

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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Comments Policy

This blog enjoys a high standard of comments, many of which are better and more interesting than the posts.

Comments are welcome, but they are pre-moderated and comments will not be published if irksome.

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.

*

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).

*

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.

*

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.

*

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.

*

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?

*

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.

*

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.

*

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.

*

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.

*

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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Comments Policy

This blog enjoys a high standard of comments, many of which are better and more interesting than the posts.

Comments are welcome, but they are pre-moderated and comments will not be published if irksome.

The comments policy is here.