Category: Legal Words and Phrases

Why is it so difficult to prosecute for the sale and purchase of peerages?

7th June 2021

A person is in the news because they donated £500,000 to a political party days after taking a seat in the house of lords.

This post is not about that person.

I have no idea about the circumstances of that appointment. and so I do not make any allegations in respect of those circumstances – and this is not just safe libel-speak, I genuinely do not know, and nor (I suspect) do you.

(And anyone commenting below who makes an allegation of criminality in respect of that appointment – or anyone else – will not have their comments published – this is not Twitter, you know.)

This post is instead about the legislation that is usually mentioned when such appointments are made: the Honours (Prevention of Abuses) Act 1925.

It is a curious statute – not least because the offences it creates appear hardly to have ever been successfully prosecuted.

(The one early exception appears to be Maundy Gregory.)

 

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The legislation has one substantive clause that in turn creates two offences.

The first offence is (and in language itself as cumbersome as the name, title and style of any obscure peerage):

‘If any person accepts or obtains or agrees to accept or attempts to obtain from any person, for himself or for any other person, or for any purpose, any gift, money or valuable consideration as an inducement or reward for procuring or assisting or endeavouring to procure the grant of a dignity or title of honour to any person, or otherwise in connection with such a grant, he shall be guilty of a misdemeanour.’

Let’s try to make sense of this word-soup.

This first offence relates to the person who is (in effect) on the supply-side of a relevant transaction – the person ‘accepting or obtaining’ the ‘inducement or reward’.

This supplier has to be shown to (a) accept, (b) obtain, (c) agree to accept, or (d) attempt to obtain [x] in return for [y].

The [x], in turn comprises two things: (a) any gift, money or valuable consideration which also has the quality (b) of being an inducement or reward for procuring or assisting or endeavouring to procure the grant of [y].

This means proof of a ‘gift, money or valuable consideration’ is not enough: there also needs to be proof of its purpose.

The [y] is the most straightforward: ‘the grant of a dignity or title of honour to any person, or otherwise in connection with such a grant’.

What all this means is that showing there is cash and an appointment is not enough: there has to be proof of intention to the criminal standard of proof – that is (in general terms) beyond reasonable doubt.

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The second offence deals with (in effect) the demand-side:

‘If any person gives, or agrees or proposes to give, or offers to any person any gift, money or valuable consideration as an inducement or reward for procuring or assisting or endeavouring to procure the grant of a dignity or title of honour to any person, or otherwise in connection with such a grant, he shall be guilty of a misdemeanour.’

There is no need to unpack this like the first offence – but you will notice that again there is the need to prove that the ‘gift, money or valuable consideration’ is for the purpose of bing an inducement or a reward.

So, as before, showing there is cash and an appointment is not enough – there needs to be proof of intention.

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Those with good political memories will recall the ‘cash for honours’ investigation of 2006-2007.

This investigation included the extraordinary moment of a dawn-raid on the home of a government official and the questioning by the police of the then prime minister.

All very dramatic.

But nothing came of it.

No charges were brought.

The Crown Prosecution Service provided detailed, legalistic reasons for their decision not to prosecute.

The CPS averred that not only did it need to prove intention (on both sides) but also that it also had to prove that there was an agreement:

‘If one person makes an offer, etc, in the hope or expectation of being granted an honour, or in the belief that it might put him/her in a more favourable position when nominations are subsequently being considered, that does not of itself constitute an offence. Conversely, if one person grants, etc, an honour to another in recognition of (in effect, as a reward for) the fact that that other has made a gift, etc, that does not of itself constitute an offence. For a case to proceed, the prosecution must have a realistic prospect of being able to prove that the two people agreed that the gift, etc, was in exchange for an honour.’

These CPS reasons were compiled and endorsed by some very clever criminal lawyers – though the rest of us may struggle to see the absolute need for proving an agreement under the 1925 Act.

Nonetheless the CPS insisted:

‘In essence, the conduct which the 1925 Act makes criminal is the agreement, or the offer, to buy and sell dignities or titles of honour. Section 1(1) is drafted in wide terms and captures any agreement in which a seller agrees to procure a peerage in return for money or other valuable consideration. Section 1(2) is also drafted in wide terms and captures any agreement in which a buyer agrees to provide money or other valuable consideration, in order to induce a seller to procure a peerage.’

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If the CPS are correct in this interpretation and construction of the statutory offences, then this makes it hard, if not impossible, for the offence ever to be prosecuted successfully.

And, even without the CPS gloss, the requirement to show intention made the offence hard to prosecute in the first place.

There may be other laws which may apply – for example, fraud legislation – but not the one piece of legislation that actually has the sale of honours as its dedicated purpose.

For, as long as those involved make sure there is no paper-trail and that the choreography of nods-and-winks are done in the right order, there is no real danger of any prosecution under the 1925 Act.

What the 1925 Act prevents is the blatant Lloyd-George style of an open market for the sale and purchase of honours.

For a statute to only regulate (in effect) the seemliness of the trade in peerages and other titles is a very, well, British (or English) thing to do.

Otherwise, the 1925 Act is an ornament, not an instrument – and so it is as much a mere constitutional decoration as any ermine robe, and is just as much use.

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The ‘state’ with no clothes on

16th May 2021

When I was young I had an illustrated book about kings and queens – but the one illustration which stayed with me was not any of the formal mannered portraits.

Instead, it was this engraving by the novelist William Makepeace Thackeray:

It still dominates how I think about kingship, queenship and indeed any formality of power.

Strip away the paraphernalia of dominance – not just the garments but also the symbolism and the rhetoric and the concepts – and you just ultimately have people.

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A great deal of what we posit as politics and law – almost all of it – exists only in the mind.

They may well have grave real-world effects – but concepts such as the ‘state’, ‘government’, ‘markets’ and ‘society’ are, just that, concepts.

And without those concepts we are all just as the French king in Thackeray’s engraving.

If everyone suddenly stopped believing in the legitimacy of the ‘state’ there would be little that those with political power could do, other than to resort to coercive power.

But even totalitarian regimes usually make some effort at legitimisation – as resorting to pure repression is demanding and unsustainable in the medium- to longer-term.

The anarchist may well want to ‘abolish’ the state – but the ‘state’ has no real existence other than in the minds of people.

All it takes is for people to believe differently about government and the law, or to believe nothing at all.

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This is one reason why ‘legitimacy’ matters – and, because legitimacy matters, it is also why constitutionalism matters.

Constitutionalism is the notion that there are certain rules and principles of political conduct that have priority over mere political expediency and party advantage.

Once the institutions and processes of the state are stripped of their legitimacy then there is little to no reason for people to accord respect and deference to government and law.

And when people no longer see a government and its law as legitimate then, absent a programme of coercion, there is the pre-condition for a political – even social – crisis.

Sensible politicians of the right and left once knew this.

The reckless assaults on constitutional norms in the United Kingdom and the United States are the political equivalent of playing with fire.

And so there is immense danger when there are politicians like Donald Trump and Boris Johnson that are hyper-partisan, undermining the legitimacy of (with Trump) elections and (with Johnson) the separation of powers and checks and balances.

This may not end well.

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Clause 59 and ‘TwitterJokeTrial’ – a warning from history

Spring Equinox, 2021

 

Some of those defending clause 59 of the Police, Crime, Sentencing, Courts and Anything Else the Government Can Get Away With Bill point out that one purpose of the provision is to set out in statute the old common law offence of public nuisance.

The view is that the enactment is merely an exercise in modernisation and simplification – that there is nothing for us to worry our heads about.

And as this blog has already explained, part of the origin of the proposal is a Law Commission report from 2015.

But.

There is a law more powerful than any statute or common law right, more powerful even than any great charter.

And that is the law of unintended consequences.

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Here is a story.

There was once an obscure provision in the Post Office (Amendment Act) 1935 that, in turn, amended the Post Office Act 1908:

And for seventy years the offence was hardly noticed, though it was reenacted from time to time as telecommunications legislation was, ahem, modernised and simplified.

Then in 2003 it was reenacted yet again, but in terms that (without any proper consideration) ended up covering the entire internet:

But it was still not really noticed.

Until one day some bright spark at the crown prosecution service realised the provision’s broad terms were a prosecutorial gift in the age of social media.

This resulted in the once-famous TwitterJokeTrial case and its various appeals, which ended with a hearing before the lord chief justice.

In allowing the appeal against conviction, the lord chief justice said:

In other words: the intention of the 2003 reenactment had not been to widen the scope of the offence in respect of fundamental freedoms.

(Declaration of interest: I was the appeal solicitor before the high court in that case.)

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Coming back to clause 59, it may well be that the intended effect of clause 59 is to merely restate the existing law.

Some are convinced by this view: 

But.

What we will have, once enacted, will be an offence – that is, an arrestable and chargeable offence – which, on the face of it is in extraordinary broad terms, using such everyday language as ‘annoyance’.

It may be that the higher courts will, as any appeals come in, apply the technical meaning in property law of ‘annoyance’.

The law in practice is not that (only) of the judgments of the high court and above: it is what police officers and crown prosecution service case workers believe the law to be and see the law as it is set out.

It is also can be what zealous complainants to the police say it to be.

And none of these people will – understandable and perhaps rightly – be well versed in the case law of ‘annoyance’ in respect of the old law of public nuisance.

They will just see an arresting and charging power – and a power to set conditions.

So it should not be left to the courts ‘to apply the old caselaw’.

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Criminal offences – and their limits – need to be clear and precise to everyone involved: citizen, complainant, arresting officer, crown prosecution service case worker, busy junior legal aid solicitor giving advice on plea – as well as to erudite barristers and even more erudite judges.

And so: even taking the point about this being a mere modernisation and simplification at its highest, clause 59 currently contains worryingly wide drafting.

Most people reading clause 59 by itself will believe there is a criminal offence – with a sentence of up to ten years – for causing mere annoyance.

Even if that it not the government’s intention, that is how the current provision can be read.

And because of this, people may suffer the life-changing events of being arrested and being charged – and may even plead guilty.

Unless, of course, that is the government’s real intention.

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Whoopsie: the government did not get the commission report on judicial review that it was hoping for

 19th March 2021

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‘Toulouse’s suggestion was not what Audrey wanted to hear.’

– Moulin Rouge

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Sometimes – just sometimes – in the world of law and policy there are moments when welcome things do happen.

Back in August 2020 this blog covered the government’s announcement of an ‘independent panel to look at judicial review’.

It did not seem a promising move: just an attempt by the government to find cover for an assault on judicial review by means of a hand-picked commission.

But.

It is sometimes strange how things turn out.

The commission has now reported – and just a skim of the report shows that the government did not get the report it was hoping for.

In large part, the report appears to be an affirmation of the current position of judicial review – with minor changes that it is hard to feel strongly about.

(A close read of the report may dislodge this happy impression – but that is this blog’s preliminary view.)

The concluding observations of the report could have even be a post on this very blog:

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In receipt of the report, the Ministry of Justice decided that it would try harder to find people to tell them what they wanted to hear.

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‘We want to keep this conversation going.’

We can bet they do.

Like a frustrated news show producer who cannot find any talking-head expert to say the desired things, the Ministry of Justice is now resorting to a Vox Pox.

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At bottom, the problem here is a mismatch, a dislocation – such as those recently discussed on this blog.

The discrepancy is between the heady rhetoric of ‘activist judges’ – a rhetoric that has a life of its own – and the mundane reality of what actually happens in courts.

The commission, to their credit, looked hard and reported on what they saw.

Yet those Ministry of Justice, to their discredit, want to keep on until they are told what they want to hear.

Perhaps the Ministry of Justice will get what they want – and then move to limit judicial review.

One can never be optimistic about law and policy for very long, and the illiberals and authoritarians are relentless.

But this report is a welcome break from the push towards populist authoritarianism in our political and legal affairs.

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For a more detailed account of the just-published report, see Paul Daly’s blogpost here.

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The European Commission launches legal proceedings against the United Kingdom – a guided tour

 16th March 2021

The European Commission announced yesterday that it had ‘launched legal proceedings’ against the United Kingdom.

What has happened is that a formal legal notice has been sent by the European Commission to the United Kingdom.

To say this is ‘launch[ing] legal proceedings’ is a little dramatic: no claim or action has been filed – yet – at any court or tribunal.

But it is a legally significant move,  and it is the first step of processes that, as we will see below, can end up before both a court and a tribunal.

This blogpost sets out the relevant information in the public domain about this legal move – a guided tour of the relevant law and procedure.

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Let us start with the ‘legal letter’ setting out the legal obligations that the European Commission aver the United Kingdom has breached and the particular evidence for those breaches.

This is an ‘infraction’ notice.

As the European Commission is making some very serious allegations – for example, that the United Kingdom is in breach of the Northern Ireland protocol – then it is important to see exactly what these averred breaches are.

This information would be set out precisely in the infraction letter – informing the ministers and officials of the United Kingdom government of the case that they had to meet in their response.

But.

We are not allowed to see this letter.

Even though the European Commission is making serious public allegations about the United Kingdom being in breach of the politically sensitive Northern Ireland Protocol, it will not tell us the particulars of the alleged breaches.

This is because, I am told, the European Commission does not publish such formal infraction notices.

There is, of course, no good reason for this lack of transparency – especially given what is at stake.

The European Commission should not be able to have the ‘cake’ of making serious infraction allegations without the ‘eating it’ of publishing them.

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And so to work out what the alleged breaches are, we have to look at other, less formal (and thereby less exact) sources.

Here the European Commission have published two things.

First, there is this press release.

Second there is this ‘political letter’ – as distinct from the non-disclosed ‘legal letter’.

What now follows in this blogpost is based primarily on a close reading of these two public documents.

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We start with the heady international law of the Vienna Convention on the law of treaties.

Article 26 of the Vienna Convention regards the delightful Latin phrase Pacta sunt servanda.

In other words: if you have signed it, you do it.

Agreements must be kept.

You will also see in Article 26 express mention of ‘good faith’.

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We now go to the withdrawal agreement between the United Kingdom and the European Union.

There at Article 5 you will see that the United Kingdom and the European Union expressly set out their obligation of good faith to each other in respect of this particular agreement:

So whatever ‘good faith’ may or not mean in a given fact situation, there is no doubt that under both Article 26 of the Vienna Convention generally and under Article 5 of the withdrawal agreement in particular that the United Kingdom and the European Union have a duty of good faith to each other in respect of their obligations under the withdrawal agreement.

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The European Commission not only allege that the United Kingdom is in breach of its obligation of good faith but also that the United Kingdom is in breach of specific obligations under the Northern Ireland protocol (which is part of the withdrawal agreement).

The press release says there are ‘breaches of substantive provisions of EU law concerning the movement of goods and pet travel made applicable by virtue of the Protocol on Ireland and Northern Ireland’.

The ‘political letter’ says:

So it would appear that the relevant provisions of the withdrawal agreement are Articles 5(3) and (4) of the Northern Ireland and Annex 2 to that protocol.

Here we go first to Annex 2.

This annex lists many provisions of European Union law that continue to have effect in Northern Ireland notwithstanding the departure of the United Kingdom.

Article 5(4) of the protocol incorporates the annex as follows:

‘The provisions of Union law listed in Annex 2 to this Protocol shall also apply, under the conditions set out in that Annex, to and in the United Kingdom in respect of Northern Ireland.’

As such a breach of Article 5(4) is a breach of the European Union laws set out in that annex.

Article 5(3) of the protocol is a more complicated provision and it is less clear (at least to me) what the European Commission is saying would be the breach:

My best guess is that the European Commission is here averring that the United Kingdom is in breach of the European Union customs code (which is contained in Regulation 952/2013.)

As regards the specific European Union laws set out in Annex 2 that the European Commission also says that the United Kingdom is in breach of, we do not know for certain because of the refusal of the commission to publish the formal infraction notice.

On the basis of information in the press release and the ‘political letter’ it would appear that the problems are set out in these three paragraphs:

Certain keyword searches of Annex 2 indicate which actual laws the European Commission is saying being breached, but in the absence of sight of the formal infraction notice, one could not know for certain.

The reason the detail of what laws are at stake matters is because each instrument of European Union law may have its own provisions in respect of applicability, enforceability and proportionality that could be relevant in the current circumstances.

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So: what next.

Two things – the European Commission is adopting a twin-track, home-and-away approach.

One process will deal with the substantive provisions of European Union law – and the other process will deal with the matter of good faith.

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In respect of the alleged substantive breaches of European Union law, the European Commission has commenced infraction proceedings – as it would do in respect of any member of the European Union.

As the ‘political letter’ pointedly reminds the United Kingdom:

The United Kingdom is still subject to the supervisory and enforcement powers of the European Union in respect of breaches of European Union law in Northern Ireland.

You thought Brexit meant Brexit?

No: the government of Boris Johnson agreed a withdrawal agreement that kept in place the supervisory and enforcement powers of the European Union – including infraction proceedings of the European Commission and determinations by the Court of Justice of the European Union.

And so in 2021 – five years after the Brexit referendum – the European Commission is launching infraction proceedings against the United Kingdom under Article 258 of the Treaty of Rome:

This means there could well be a hearing before the Court of Justice of the European Union.

One does not know whether this would be more wanted or not wanted by our current hyper-partisan post-Brexit government.

One even half-suspects that they wanted this all along.

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The other track – with the European Commission playing ‘away’ – is in respect of the general ‘good faith’ obligation – as opposed to the substantive European Union law obligations under Annex 2.

Here we are at an early stage.

In particular, we are are at the fluffy ‘cooperation’ stage of Article 167:

If this fails, then the next stage would be a notice under Article 169(1):

Article 169(1) provides that such a formal notice shall ‘commence consultations’.

And if these Article 169 consultations do not succeed, then we go to Article 170:

The arbitration panel – and not the European Commission nor the European Court of Justice – would then determine whether the United Kingdom is in breach of its general obligation of good faith.

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We could therefore end up with two sets of highly controversial proceedings.

The European Commission has intimated the processes for both to take place in due course.

From a legalistic perspective, the European Commission may have a point – depending on what the alleged breaches actually are.

A legal process is there for dealing with legal breaches – that is what a legal process is for.

But.

When something is legally possible, it does not also make it politically sensible.

A wise person chooses their battles.

And if the European Commission presses their cases clumsily, then the legitimacy and durability of the withdrawal framework may be put at risk.

Brace, brace.

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The proposed new clause 59 offence of ‘intentionally or recklessly causing public nuisance’

15th March 2021

There is currently a bill before parliament that will, among other things, create a new statutory offence of ‘public nuisance’.

This new offence – as currently set out in the bill – is itself causing annoyance and distress.

Why is it being proposed?

And what should parliament do about it?

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Like a lamp in Aladdin – it is a new offence for an old one.

If the new offence is enacted then the current ‘common law’ (that is, non-statutory) offence of public nuisance will be abolished.

The current offence is ill-defined and rarely used – and it has been the subject of 2015 reform proposals from the Law Commission – see here.

(Of course, the fact that the Law Commission proposed reform in 2015 is not the reason why the home office have chosen to propose changes in 2021.)

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On the face of it, reform and simplification are good things.

Who could possibly oppose something as laudable as reform and simplification?

And the Law Commission does have a point – the current law is somewhat vague and archaic.

The current law is usually stated as:

‘A person is guilty of a public nuisance (also known as common nuisance), who (a) does an act not warranted by law, or (b) omits to discharge a legal duty, if the effect of the act or omission is to endanger the life, health, property or comfort of the public, or to obstruct the public in the exercise or enjoyment of rights common to all Her Majesty’s subjects.’

The bill before parliament proposes that old offence to be replaced by this:

As you will see there are elements of the current offence copied over to the new offence – and that although this is an exercise in ‘simplification’ it also happens to be rather longer.

Words like ‘annoyance’ are added.

But the new offence has not plucked the word ‘annoyance’ out of the air: annoyance can be a component of the current offence, and it has featured in case law.

The word ‘annoy’ (and its variants) is mentioned thirty-seven times in the Law Commission report.

The Law Commission summarises their view as (at paragraph 3.12):

‘One question is the nature of the right or interest which public nuisance seeks to protect.  In our view, its proper use is to protect the rights of members of the public to enjoy public spaces and use public rights (such as rights of way) without danger, interference or annoyance.’

Whatever ills can be blamed on the home secretary and the home office, the content of this proposed provision is not entirely of their creation.

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But.

Each and every piece of legislation needs to be scrutinised on its own terms – and neither parliamentarians nor the public should just nod-along because the magic words ‘reform’ and ‘simplification’ are invoked.

Never trust the home office.

And if one looks through clause 59 carefully and trace through how it works, it is potentially a chilling and illiberal provision.

For example (with emphasis added):

‘A person commits an offence if— (a) the person— (i) does an act […]  [which](b) the person’s act or omission […] (ii) obstructs the public or a section of the public in the exercise or enjoyment of a right that may be exercised or enjoyed by the public at large, and (c) the person  […]  is reckless as to whether it will have such a consequence. […]  (2) For the purposes of subsection (1) an act or omission causes serious harm to a person if, as a result, the person […] (c) suffers serious distress, serious annoyance, serious inconvenience or serious loss of amenity, or (d) is put at risk of suffering anything mentioned […].

The offence is thereby made out not if a person is caused ‘serious annoyance’ but only if there is a ‘risk’ of them suffering it.

And there does not need need to be any directed intention – mere recklessness will suffice.

The maximum sentence for simply putting someone ‘at risk of suffering’ serious annoyance is imprisonment for a term not exceeding ten years.

Of course, maximum sentences are maximum sentences, and in practice the penalties will be lower.

Yet, the creation of such an offence in these terms will have a knock-on effects on the powers of police to arrest and to set conditions.

And it is in the day-to-day exercises of such powers by the police that the real chill of any offence is most keenly felt – and not the ultimate sentencing power of a court.

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This provision and other provisions in the bill before parliament have the potential to greatly restrict the rights of individuals to protest – or even go about their everyday activities.

As such, such provisions should receive the anxious scrutiny of parliamentarians. 

Despite the Law Commission origins of the proposed reform – there may be plenty here that the home office have added – and for various illiberal reasons.

Members of parliament are not there to nod-along – and this particular proposal should not just be nodded-through.

***

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The Real Citizens of Nowhere – statelessness and the law and the case of Shamima Begum – looking closely at the Begum case part 2

not 2nd March 2021

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‘…you’re a citizen of nowhere.’

Theresa May, then prime minister of the United Kingdom, Birmingham, 2016

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What is a stateless person – a person who is (literally) a citizen of nowhere?

The best starting point for answering this question – a question that is relevant in the topical case of Shamima Begum as well as important generally – is the declaration of human rights of the United Nations.

Article 15 of the declaration provides:

‘(1) Everyone has the right to a nationality.

‘(2) No one shall be arbitrarily deprived of his [or her] nationality nor denied the right to change his nationality.’

A stateless person would thereby a person without nationality, either because they have never had one or because they have been deprived of any nationality that they did have.

That person would be an alien in every country on the planet, without a government obliged to offer protection or help, and without anywhere where they can reside as of right.

Such a predicament would be fundamentally inhumane.

And so that is why the rights to a nationality and against being deprived of any nationality arbitrarily are in the United Nations declaration.

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You will notice that article 15(2) of the declaration is not an absolute prohibition on a person being deprived of nationality, but a bar on such deprivation being done ‘arbitrarily’.

This would be most relevant when a person has more than one nationality, when one or more of those nationalities is being removed.

But the basic right under article 15(1) is not subject to exceptions: the ‘right to a nationality’ is a right for ‘everyone’. 

And that, for what it is worth, is the fundamental position under international law.

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The next step is a 1954 convention of the United Nations – the Convention Relating to the Status of Stateless Persons – which took effect in 1960.

The key provision of the 1954 convention is article 1(1), which provides a legally significant definition of a ‘stateless person’ (and thereby ‘statelessness’):

‘For the purpose of this Convention, the term “stateless person” means a person who is not considered as a national by any State under the operation of its law.’

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This definition in article 1(1) of the 1954 convention repays careful consideration.

Indeed, as you will see later, this particular definition matters a lot.

Note what the definition does not say.

For example (omitting certain words and replacing ‘by’ with ‘of’) it does not say:

‘For the purpose of this Convention, the term “stateless person” means a person who is not […] a national [of] any State […].’

So what difference do the omitted words make?

The difference is the crucial phrase (perhaps known better in other contexts): ‘the operation of law.’

This phrase means that, regardless of the facts of a person’s predicament, their nationality is a matter of law.

Not a matter of fact, or of opinion – but a matter of law.

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So, for example, imagine person [Y].

If the law of country [X] provides that person [Y] is a national of that country, then the legal position is that person [x] has nationality and is not stateless.

It does not matter if person [Y] has never been to country [X].

It does not matter if person [Y] has no personal connection to country [X] and, for example, does not speak the language of country [X] and may even be persecuted or tortured if they were to go to country [X].

It also follows that the mere opinion of anybody involved does not matter.

Even if the government of country [X] opines that person [Y] is not a national, that opinion does not matter if, as a matter of law, person [Y] is a national of country [Y].

All that ultimately matters on the issue is what the law of country [X] provides on the issue, and nothing else.

And once it can be ascertained that person [Y] is, as a matter of law, a national of country [X] then that person is not stateless.

Person [Y]’s personal relationship with country [X] and the state opinion of the government of country [Y] are all irrelevant.

*

This absolute priority for the legal position – above the practical facts of the situation – is, as you will see, a feature of this area of law.

Some lawyers will use the Latin phrases de jure and de facto as respective labels for the position as a matter of law and the situation as a matter of fact.

Adopting such terms, the law is that one’s nationality in respect of statelessness is de jure rather than de facto.

Even if the relevant country is far away and about which you know nothing.

*

So, in practice: a government of a country (for example, Bangladesh) may well say a person is not a national (or not wanted as a national) – yet what makes that person stateless is not that mere statement by the government, but whether that person is stateless by operation of law of that country.

When the government of a country (for example, Bangladesh) says one thing about whether a person is a national, but the law of that country says another, then the law trumps the government.

The rejection by a government (for example, Bangladesh) may make a person (for example, Begum) stateless de facto but not de jure.

You will see the consequences of this (legalistic) approach in some of the relevant cases (for example, the case of Begum).

And this (legalistic) approach is hard-wired into the very wording of article 1(1) of the 1954 convention.

Let us look at it again (with emphasis added): 

‘For the purpose of this Convention, the term “stateless person” means a person who is not considered as a national by any State under the operation of its law.’

*

Our next step is another United Nations convention – the Convention on the Reduction of Statelessness – of 1961 and which took effect in 1975.

The 1961 convention provides at article 8(1):

‘A Contracting State shall not deprive a person of its nationality if such deprivation would render him [or her] stateless.’

This right looks robust and unequivocal, with no deft legalistic exceptions or qualifications.

This right is subject to exceptions under the article 8(2) of the 1961 convention (which relate to those who obtain nationality by naturalisation) and under the article 8(3) of the 1961 convention (certain disloyal activities).

You did not think that countries would make it that easy for a person to rely on the right under article 8(1) of the 1961 convention, did you?

Of course not.

Article 8(2) and article 8(3) envisage some situations where a person themselves fulfils a condition that allows a country to deprive a person of their nationality.

The notion is that they will only have themselves to blame.

(As for the position under the law of the United Kingdom at the time the 1961 convention took effect, see section 20 of the British Nationality Act 1948 – the predecessor of the current 1981 Act)

However, in the case of Begum, article 8(2) and article 8(3) are not (supposedly) directly relevant, as the position of the government of the United Kingdom in respect of the Begum case is, of course, that depriving her of her United Kingdom citizenship does not render her stateless.

*

The position of the government is that Begum is de jure a citizen of Bangladesh.

This is, in part, because the government takes statelessness to mean as it is defined in the 1954 convention – that is as statelessness de jure not de facto.

And so, in his letter of 19th February 2019, the home secretary Sajid Javid said (emphases added):

‘As the Secretary of State, I hereby give notice in accordance with section 40(5) of the British Nationality Act 1981 that I intend to have an order made to deprive you, Shamima Begum of your British citizenship under section 40(2) of the Act. This is because it would be conducive to the public good to do so.

‘The reason for the decision is that you are a British/Bangladeshi dual national who it is assessed has previously travelled to Syria and aligned with ISIL. It is assessed that your return to the UK would present a risk to the national security of the United Kingdom. In accord with section 40(4) of the British Nationality Act 1981, I am satisfied that such an order will not make you stateless.’

The emphasised text is crucial.

Without that text, the home secretary may have be barred by section 40(4) of the British Nationality Act 1981:

‘The Secretary of State may not make an order under subsection (2) if he is satisfied that the order would make a person stateless.’

And so, if Begum – by operation of law – is indeed a citizen of Bangladesh then she can – in principle – be deprived of her United Kingdom citizenship without that deprivation being barred by section 40(4) of the 1981 Act (and thereby contrary to international law).

*

But it is no longer just the view of the home secretary of the United Kingdom.

The question of whether the deprivation would be such as to render Begum stateless has also been considered by the Special Immigration Appeals Commission, in paragraphs 27 to 139 of its decision.

The commission heard expert evidence on both sides and decided that the law of Bangladesh would be that Begum would be a national of Bangladesh, regardless of the lack of any personal connection with that country.

This is paragraph 121 of the commission decision:

The commission has held that Begum was a citizen of Bangladesh by operation of the law of Bangladesh – regardless of what the government of Bangladesh has said and does say.

Begum has not, according to the commission decision, been rendered stateless.

The commission may be wrong: perhaps the expert evidence was wrong, or the wrong weight has been placed on the evidence, or the commission has applied the wrong legal tests, or the commission has applied legal tests incorrectly.

But, as it stands, the view of the home secretary that the deprivation decision has not made Begum stateless has also been endorsed by an independent body.

This issue of whether Begum would or would not be rendered stateless has, however, been decided only as one preliminary issue – there are several other issues – and there still has not been a final decision by the commission on Begum’s overall appeal of the deprivation.

The recent appeals up to and including the supreme court have been in respect of Begum’s ability to participate in this appeal and on a separate policy matter (which we will look at in another post).

The substantive appeal of the deprivation order is still incomplete (and at the moment it appears that it may be indefinitely stayed  – that is, in effect, adjourned).

The appeal before the commission is in limbo, as is – of course – Shamima Begum.

*

This post is part of a series of posts on the Begum case.

There is something wrong – very wrong – about the legal situation of Shamima Begum.

That is, at least on the basis of information in the public domain – which is, of course, the only information on which the public can have confidence in the relevant law and policy.

The legal case is, however, complex – at least on the face of it, with sets of legal proceedings and appeals that have resulted so far in a number of lengthy judgments by variously constituted courts.

So to get to the wrongness of this situation, this blog will be doing a sequence of posts, each on a different element of the case.

Previous posts have included:

  • initial thoughts on the illiberal supreme court decision (here)
  • the parallel of the supreme court decision with the 1941 case of Liversidge v Anderson (here)
  • the legal power of the home secretary to deprive a person of United Kingdom citizenship (here)

Further posts will show how the home office and the courts dealt (and did not deal) with important issues in this case.

The purpose of this Begum series of posts is to promote the public understanding of law.

The posts in this Begum series on this blog will be every few days, alongside commentary on other law and policy matters.

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The issue with vaccine certification – or ‘vaccine passports’ – is not that they are discriminatory – as all certification is discriminatory, if you think about it

1st March 2021

Over at the Financial Times I have a piece today on ‘vaccine passports’ – that is, a system of certification that a person has or has not had the coronavirus vaccine.

That article demonstrates my weakness as a commentator in the traditional media sense, as on this subject I do not happen to have strong views either way.

I do not have an ‘angle’ that will (conveniently) last from between 800 to 1100 words – no ultimate position that I am arguing for and articulating on your behalf for your claps and cheers.

Instead, on this policy (as on many others) I can only see difficulties – and difficult choices.

And these difficulties are, in turn, because of the very nature of certification.

All certification is discriminatory – that is its very point.

Certification enables (or should enable) a state of affairs to be asserted in a manner that then allows a decision-maker to make one decision instead of another.

That is: to discriminate.

The problem is not with discrimination in and of itself.

The problem is when that discrimination is unfair – either directly or indirectly.

Accordingly, it is not a complete answer to the proposal of any form of certification to dismiss it as discriminatory.

For all you are then saying is that a system of certification is acting, well, as a system of certification should.

The more important questions are whether that a policy of certificates would be reliable – and, if reliable, whether the benefits will outweigh the costs and whether it will not create unwanted inequalities, either directly or indirectly.

These are problematic things to consider – and for which there may not be an easy solutions – and in respect of which difficult choices will need to be made.

And to point such things out is a purpose of law and policy commentary.

Not all commentary is cheerleading for one position or the other.

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The legal power of the Home Secretary to deprive a person of United Kingdom citizenship – looking closely at the Begum case part 1

28th February 2021

There is something wrong – very wrong – about the legal situation of Shamima Begum.

That is, at least on the basis of information in the public domain – which is, of course, the only information on which the public can have confidence in the relevant law and policy.

The legal case is, however, complex – at least on the face of it, with sets of legal proceedings and appeals that have resulted so far in a number of lengthy judgments by variously constituted courts.

So to get to the wrongness of this situation, this blog will be doing a sequence of posts, each on a different element of the case.

Is the fault with the substantive law and general government policy?  Or with the particular decisions made by home secretaries?  Or with the lower courts and tribunals?  Or with the higher appeal courts?

Of course, one easy answer is say ‘all of them’ – but even then: what is the allocation and distribution of wrongness in the system?

Previous posts on this blog on the case have put forward some initial impressions on the supreme court judgment of last week and, yesterday, compared the case in general terms with the 1941 decision of Liversidge v Anderson.

Today’s post is on the general subject of the power of the home secretary to deprive a person of British citizenship, subject to the (supposed) prohibition on rendering a person ‘stateless’.

*

The power of a home secretary to deprive a person of British citizenship is set out in section 40 of the British Nationality Act 1981.

Note, however, that this is not about powers that actually date back to 1981 – as this provision and the act generally have been heavily amended by successive governments.

This legal power, like many other powers that can be used illiberally, is a legal work-in-progress – constantly being tuned (if not finely) by home office lawyers by legislative amendment so as to make it ever-more difficult for a home secretary’s decisions to be checked and balanced.

*

The key power in the Begum case is at section 40(2):

‘The Secretary of State may by order deprive a person of a citizenship status if the Secretary of State is satisfied that deprivation is conducive to the public good.’

This is it – this is the deprivation power.

On the face of section 40(2) alone, any person can be deprived of citizenship not by a decision of an independent court or tribunal but at the simple discretion of a cabinet minister.

*

But.

There is then section 40(4), which provides:

‘The Secretary of State may not make an order under subsection (2) if he is satisfied that the order would make a person stateless.’

(The ‘he’ here also means ‘she’ under section 6 of the Interpretation Act 1978.)

On the face of it, section 40(4) would thereby prevent the deprivation power being used so as to render a person stateless.

Yet note, the deft use of the words ‘he is satisfied’.

Read the provision again without those three words to see the difference those words make: ‘The Secretary of State may not make an order under subsection (2) if  […] that the order would make a person stateless.’

The direct legal test is thereby not whether a person is made stateless, but (again) the ‘satisfaction’ of the home secretary.

As we come to look more closely at the Begum case in particular, you will see what rides on words and phrases like this.

*

Turning now to the Begum case, we can now see the legal basis of the decision by the then home secretary Sajid Javid of 19th February 2019 (emphases added):

‘As the Secretary of State, I hereby give notice in accordance with section 40(5) of the British Nationality Act 1981 that I intend to have an order made to deprive you, Shamima Begum of your British citizenship under section 40(2) of the Act. This is because it would be conducive to the public good to do so.

‘The reason for the decision is that you are a British/Bangladeshi dual national who it is assessed has previously travelled to Syria and aligned with ISIL. It is assessed that your return to the UK would present a risk to the national security of the United Kingdom. In accord with section 40(4) of the British Nationality Act 1981, I am satisfied that such an order will not make you stateless.’

As you can see, the notice of 19th February 2019 ticks the boxes for both (1) the basic deprivation power and (2) avoiding the statelessness exception.

This determination being made by the home secretary – and given the evidence on which the home secretary purports to rely – the only immediate avenue of appeal of Begum was to the special immigration appeals commission.

*

The next post in this series of posts on the Begum case will set out the relevant law on ‘statelessness’.

Further posts will then show how the home office and the courts dealt (and did not deal) with important issues in this case.

The purpose of this Begum series of posts is to promote the public understanding of law.

The posts in this Begum series on this blog will be every few days, alongside commentary on other law and policy matters.

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If you value this free-to-read post, and the independent legal and policy commentary this blog provides for both you and others – please do support through the Paypal box above, or become a Patreon subscriber.

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‘Not giving the Home Secretary’s assessment the respect that it deserves’ – some initial thoughts on the Shamima Begum decision of the Supreme Court of the United Kingdom

26th February 2021

This morning the Supreme Court of the United Kingdom handed down its decision in the appeal case of Shamima Begum.

The judgment is detailed and lengthy, dealing with three distinct appeals, and is 137 paragraphs long.

With a decision of this scope and complexity one can only form indicative impressions on the day it is made public.

The decision will take time to digest and to comprehend.

But.

That said, and with the proviso that immediate impressions can often be dispelled, here are some views from the perspective of a liberal commentator on law and policy.

*

The first impression comes from the decision being unanimous.

This is not a judgment where some justices with a more liberal perspective have their say and their more conservative counterparts say something else.

A basis for a judgment was found to which all supreme court justices who heard the case was content to put their names.

This is similar to what happened in the second Miller case – on the prorogation of parliament – and on the Heathrow expansion case.

Perhaps it is a mere coincidence – but the supreme court is at now at least in the habit of putting on a united front in cases that (can be said to) involve issues of high policy and the public interest – even if it is not a deliberate policy.

This is no doubt sensible – if the judicial element of the state is to check and balance another element of the state (or to not check or balance another element of the state) then it is better for it not to be seen as something on which senior judges disagree between themselves.

It also perhaps indicates that there is more going on behind the scenes in seeking to obtain unanimous judgments, rather than a laissez-faire attitude of just publishing what each judge thinks.

*

The second impression is that, as well as being unanimous, the judgment is executive minded.

For example, here is how the court of appeal described the background of Begum:

But in contrast, in the supreme court judgment these same personal details – such as where Begum was born – are expressly presented from the perspective of the home secretary’s desk:

What we know about Begum in the supreme court judgment is expressly framed as being the content of a submission before the home secretary.

We are not directly told Begum was born in the United Kingdom other than that this is an incidental detail in an assessment on national security.

For the details of the individual to be put in such terms in a judgment in respect of their rights is not wrong, but it is quite the tell.

The supreme court judgment also starts in a robust, no-nonsense way about the home secretary’s decisive action:

Nothing rides on it, of course, but note how we are told that the home secretary is both a privy councillor and a member of parliament (gosh, fancy that) and nothing at all about Begum.

That the court is seeing things from the home secretary’s perspective is also perhaps indicated by an unfortunate choice of words at paragraph 134:

The court of appeal has been told off by the unanimous supreme court for not giving ‘the Home Secretary’s assessment the respect which it should have received’.

It is not only an unfortunate choice of words, it is also somewhat chilling in a court which is in effect the final guarantor of our basic rights and freedoms either under the common law, human rights law, or otherwise.

The job of the courts is not to ‘give respect’ to assessments of the home secretary – but to approach such determinations with anxious scrutiny.

Perhaps the use of words here is a slip – but one fears instead it is again a tell.

*

The third immediate impression is that it is a defeatist judgment.

The court of appeal found a compromise which balanced the rights of Begum with those of the executive.

It was an impressive and elegant judgment, and I did a video for the Financial Times:

The supreme court was to have none of this.

For the supreme court justices it is not the job of a court to indulge in such elaborate balancing exercises between the executive and the individual.

Instead, in such a dilemma, there is no judicial compromise:

Not every legal problem, it seems, has a neat legal solution – and the supreme court is averring that courts should not affect otherwise.

*

The overall first impression is that the supreme court has made a firm turn away from liberalism – liberalism being the general notion that the rights of the individual are to be balanced against those of the state.

(As opposed to the notion that the rights of either side will always trump the other.)

If this first impression is affirmed on careful examination of the judgment then the considered reaction will have to be one of disappointment.

For if the supreme court is taking an illiberal turn, then they will be failing – to invoke a phrase – to accord individuals the respect they deserve.

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