Litigation – The Law and Policy Blog

“…as a matter of law, the house is haunted” – a quick Hallowe’en post about law and lore

Hallowe’en 2024

As words ‘law’ and ‘lore’ can sound pretty much alike. And as things they are also very similar: that is a theme of this blog.

But from time to time the courts are asked to deal with (what we can call) capital-l Lore – that is (what we can call) Folklore.

One of the greatest examples is the (ahem) hallowed 1991 New York case of Stambovsky v Ackley – the case that provides us with that priceless quote above.

Here is the quote in context (broken into one-sentence paragraphs):

“Plaintiff, to his horror, discovered that the house he had recently contracted to purchase was widely reputed to be possessed by poltergeists, reportedly seen by defendant seller and members of her family on numerous occasions over the last nine years.

“Plaintiff promptly commenced this action seeking rescission of the contract of sale.

“Supreme Court reluctantly dismissed the complaint, holding that plaintiff has no remedy at law in this jurisdiction.

“The unusual facts of this case, as disclosed by the record, clearly warrant a grant of equitable relief to the buyer who, as a resident of New York City, cannot be expected to have any familiarity with the folklore of the Village of Nyack.

“Not being a “local”, plaintiff could not readily learn that the home he had contracted to purchase is haunted.

“Whether the source of the spectral apparitions seen by defendant seller are parapsychic or psychogenic, having reported their presence in both a national publication (Readers’ Digest) and the local press (in 1977 and 1982, respectively), defendant is estopped to deny their existence and, as a matter of law, the house is haunted.”

I am not an American lawyer, but on the basis of the fuller quote above, one gets the sense that the judge is being playful. The rest of the judgment affirms this view.

There are many ways the judge could have worded the point without saying that “as a matter of law, the house is haunted”.

(And as an English lawyer, the true Hallowe’en horror of the passage is that estoppel is a matter of equity and not a matter of law, but we shall let that pass.)

The judge could have simply said that the defendant was “estopped from going back on previous statements” or something similarly bland.

But the judge saw their chance to end their point with that wonderful wording, and the judge took it, much to the amusement or puzzlement of many American law students since.

For more on ghosts and the law, please see this absolutely superb paper by Canadian lawyer Michael Shortt – and a hat-tip to William Holmes at Legal Cheek for pointing to it.

(The Shortt paper is something I would love to have written, but I would not have done such a good job. It is brilliant.)

Happy Hallowe’en to all my readers.

The Lucy Letby case: some thoughts and observations: what should happen when a defence does not put in their own expert evidence (for good reason or bad)?

26th July 2024

Often the criminal cases that feature prominently in the news are really not interesting from a legal(istic) perspective.

One could quite happily commentate on interesting legal issues and never engage with a case which has been on the front pages.

And one could follow ‘true crime’ stories and never come across an interesting legal issue.

There is usually not much of an overlap: ‘true crime’ and earnest, plodding legal commentary normally do not have that much in common.

The Lucy Letby case has been prominent in the news now for some time.

She has been convicted of multiple murders and attempted murders.

But is there anything in her case which is of wider interest – or of concern – in respect of the legal system?

Is there an issue here about the process of criminal justice?

Some people maintain she must be innocent; and some people insist she must be guilty; and there are many websites and social media posts setting out both of these positions.

This blogpost is not one of them.

I do not know if she is guilty or innocent. That is a matter for a jury – or an appeal court.

She may be a serial killer, or she may be a victim of a miscarriage of justice; that is for others to decide.

But there is, I think, an issue here of potential wider concern.

This may be a rare example of a front page ‘true crime’ story which also raises an important issue about the legal system.

And that issue is about the role of prosecution expert evidence in an adversarial criminal trial when the defence elects not to put in their own expert evidence (for good reason or bad).

Lucy Letby was convicted, in part, on the basis of expert evidence.

The case against her was not entirely based on expert evidence; there was other evidence put before the jury.

But, on any view, it was an expert evidence heavy prosecution.

And that is not unusual – or wrong: there are many criminal prosecutions which depend on expert evidence.

In our adversarial system, what often happens in a jury trial when there is reliance by the prosecution on expert evidence is that there is also expert evidence put forward by the defence.

In principle, the expert owes their duty to the court – and not to the party who has instructed him or her.

In practice, of course, the prosecution will put forward expert evidence that supports their case, and the defence puts forward expert evidence which supports their case; the experts are then examined and cross-examined by lawyers; the judge sums up; and the jury then weighs the evidence of the experts in its deliberations.

This system is not perfect, and indeed no litigation process is perfect; but it generally works.

But what happens when the defence, for some reason, does not put in their own expert evidence?

The prosecution expert evidence will still be examined and cross-examined by lawyers – and the judge will still sum up, and the jury will still deliberate.

But the questions of the lawyers – especially the cross-examination – are not themselves evidence.

The only expert evidence is that put in by the prosecution.

The jury do not get to compare and contrast the expert evidence of the prosecution and the defence; the judge gets only to sum up the expert evidence of the prosecution.

In the first Lucy Letby trial, for some reason, there was no expert evidence put in by the defence.

We do not know that reason.

What we do know is that the defence team continued to act for her on appeal and so it would seem that their client is not dissatisfied with the conduct of the defence. This would indicate that there was, at least for their client, a good reason for not putting in expert evidence, else – presumably – she would have instructed new counsel for the appeal.

If so, could there be a good reason?

Yes, indeed there could be more than one good reason – though this is supposition, for we do not know the reason.

One possible good reason for there not being expert evidence put in by the defence has been identified by the experienced criminal barrister Adam King in a strong piece setting out why there may be a miscarriage of justice in this case:

“One reason the defence might have chosen not to call Dr Hall (and I am speculating here) is if they felt they had so thoroughly undermined Dr Evans that they were better off leaving it at that. That would be a big tactical call, but covering your own back is not always consistent with protecting your client’s interests.

“So, for example: if your own expert would contradict much, but not all, of the Crown’s expert’s conclusions, and you believe the credibility of the Crown’s expert has been totally destroyed, you might judge it prudent not to put your own expert in the witness box. Avoiding the potential for future criticism and hindsight regret by putting your client in what you believe will be a worse position — by calling your own expert — is not a boss move. This is all speculation, but I guarantee that careful thought went into the decision not to call Dr Hall. None of this, though, would mean the conviction is safe.”

Another possible reason not to call expert evidence is that your client’s case is that the relevant area of knowledge is such that no actual expertise is possible. This may be because of the lack of reliable data, or because it is a novel or developing area.

If so, calling an expert on that point would contradict that position.

We do know that Letby’s defence lawyers put in a detailed submission at the end of the prosecution case in the first trial that the prosecution had shown no case to answer and that prosecution expert evidence should be ruled inadmissible. It may have been that calling expert evidence would have undermined the prospects of what may have been a successful application.

We don’t know.

In essence, the decision not to call expert evidence may have been a perfectly legitimate one for Letby and her lawyers to make in the circumstances of her case.

And one should remember – and this is a crucial point – it is for the prosecution to make out their case.

It is for the Crown to prove their case to the criminal standard of proof, and not for the defence to disprove it.

But.

While it may have been in the interests of Letby and her lawyers not to put in expert evidence, this has the knock-on effect of there being no expert evidence from the defence for the jury to consider.

That prosecution expert evidence may be subject to robust cross-examination – but the questions of the barrister are not evidence, and the jury have to decide the case on the basis of the evidence.

At this point, many legal folk and others would say that the fault here is with Letby and her lawyers. The defence had the opportunity to put in their own expert evidence, and they did not do so. And that the convictions were the consequence.

But it may be that response avoids a key issue.

It is for the prosecution to prove their case, and not for the defence to disprove it.

It is thereby for the prosecution to ensure that the expert evidence on which it seeks to rely is as sound as possible.

The prosecution cannot shrug off this responsibility and say that it can be cured by the defence expert witnesses.

And there is concern that the prosecution expert evidence in the Letby case was not sound to begin with.

If that concern about the prosecution expert evidence is well-based – and this is a legal blog and not a medical or science blog, and so like many of you I have no idea – then the question is what, if anything, can and should the legal system do about it – especially when the defence (for good reason or bad) do not put their own expert evidence in.

Here there are rules on what experts can and cannot do and say, and on what their duties are to the court; here there are also rules on the admissibility of expert evidence; and there will also be cross-examination of the expert by defence lawyers.

There are safeguards.

But.

The key safeguard against poor prosecution expert evidence in our adversarial system is that the defence can put in their own expert evidence for the jury to weigh against it.

But when the defence do not do that (for good reason or bad) then there is perhaps a system failure of the adversarial system.

Here one can (again) say that is the fault of Letby and her lawyers.

But even taking that (fair) point at its highest, there is a potential wider problem.

A lot depends on the soundness of the Letby conviction.

Indeed there is an important public inquiry which is predicated on the basis of the convictions being sound:

If, as some insist, the prosecution expert evidence in the Letby case was unsound, then any inquiry based on that expert evidence being sound will have challenges.

“MD” in the current edition of Private Eye sets out the implications:

“…[the] Thirwall public inquiry may inadvertently be derailed by experts who say under oath that Letby wasn’t stopped sooner because there were far more plausible reasons for the deaths than murder.”

The cases involving Roy Meadow show that we should always be alert to the problems of expert evidence.

If – and it is an if – the prosecution expert evidence in the Letby case was unsound, then there is a hard question of what else the criminal justice system could/should have done when a defence does not put their own expert evidence.

Given her decision not to put in expert evidence, is it the case that she had the fairest trial possible in the circumstances?

Or is there something else the criminal justice system could/should have done in this case – and similar cases?

It may be that there is a lacuna here – and not one which is easy, or even possible, to address in our adversarial system.

In essence: what can a criminal court do in respect of unsound expert evidence when the defence elects (for good reason or bad) not to put in their own expert evidence?

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Trump’s case – a view from an English legal perspective

24th April 2024

I am not an American lawyer, but here are some thoughts from an English litigation perspective.

Trump is adept at what he calls (or his ghost writer called) ‘the art of the deal’ – that is a transactional approach based on exploiting leverage.

Such an approach is not unhelpful in pre-trial shenanigans, where it is one party dealing with another party. Pre-trial litigation is often deal-making by another name. But when a dispute gets to court (and most Trump-related litigation does not get to a courtroom) then such bilateral game-playing becomes far less important. A third party – the judge (and sometimes jury) takes power. Trump’s blustering and bargaining is not well suited for this. Bullying will now not be enough.

And there will also be another thing he now cannot control: evidence. And this evidence will feed into the media mainstream, with the added credibility of being on oath. For somebody who is a deft manipulator of the media and his public image this los of information control will also be painful for him.

I have no idea if Trump will be convicted. I suspect it will be hard to get a conviction.

But he is now a fish out of water, at least for a while.

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Law and lore, and state failure – the quiet collapse of the county court system in England and Wales

22nd April 2024

One theme of my blogging is the relationship between law and lore. By ‘law and lore’ I mean what people believe to be the law to be, as opposed to what the ‘black letter’ law actually is.

Few people, if any, regulate their lives by what the law actually is – for no (normal) human being can know the detail of all the laws that apply at every moment of their lives, from statutes and by-laws to contractual terms and conditions. The best that one can do is know as much actual law as you can and hope that what you believe about law corresponds with what the law actually is.

(And, of course, it may not always be plain what the law actually is, in any case.)

Another theme of my blogging is state failure. By ‘state failure’ I mean the acts and omissions by and on behalf of public officials and public bodies that indicate fundamental and/or systemic failings.

Sometimes these state failings can be hidden deliberately from the public and indeed politicians and the media, and sometimes there is perhaps no need to deliberately hide them as too few people care. In either case the ultimate problem is either lack of resources or lack of accountability, or both.

Over at Prospect I have done a piece that illustrates these two themes: the unsexy and perhaps uninteresting topic of local civil justice – and in particular, the county court system.

Please click and read here.

I fell onto this topic by chance. I was looking at the transcript of the recent ‘liaison committee’ of the House of Commons for something I am writing about parliamentary accountability. This committee, comprised of select committee chairs, is one of the few recent improvements in holding the executive account, with its periodic examinations of the Prime Minister.

At the most recent session, I saw that the Justice committee chair devoted about half his allotted questions to the county court system. He could have chosen many other topics – from international law to prisons – but this was the subject he selected. That in turn led me to seeing that the justice committee has started an investigation into the county court system. Such an inquiry is welcome.

The reason the county court system combines state failure (of which it is an example) with law and lore is that, for most people the county court system would be where they would enforce their everyday legal rights and obligations in respect of civil law – contract, torts, family law, property law, and so on.

Few people would be able to commence such litigation in the more expensive and exclusive High Court – just as few people would be able to lunch at the Ritz.

Of course, most people will not ever litigate. Indeed most people will happily go through their lives without attending a county court – or even knowing where their nearest one is situated.

But they will conduct themselves often on the assumption that certain rights and obligations can be enforced ultimately.

However, if the county court system continues to collapse, then that assumption will become increasingly academic. In essence, what people believe they can enforce at court will become more lore than law.

This is not to say that there will suddenly be anarchy and lawlessness: systems of customary oral law can be very enduring, and some systems of non-enforceable law can be rather resilient.

But eventually the mismatch between what is understood to be the law and what can actually be enforced will have some effect, and that effect will, in turn, modify behaviours – and in an adverse way.

We are getting close to local civil justice not being meaningful to many in the community.

Let us hope that, unless local civil justice is somehow revitalised, that the lag between law and lore is a long one.

*****

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“Computer says guilty” – an introduction to the evidential presumption that computers are operating correctly

This is first in a series of posts on the Post Office Horizon prosecutions scandal

The Post Office prosecutions scandal is the United Kingdom’s greatest mass miscarriage of justice of our times.

The scandal, however, is also difficult to write about.

Partly this is because many of the personal and systemic failures in the scandal are so maddening that any attempt at objective explanation and detached commentary can quickly become a rant.

And it is partly because the matter is so complex that very few will have mastery of all the legal and other documents and evidence. For example, the key 2019 judgment of Mr Justice Fraser – a judgment which also happens to be one of the greatest forensic exercises undertaken by any modern judge – is over a thousand paragraphs long, even without its appendices.

Nonetheless, there have been some outstanding accounts and analyses of this sorry situation. In particular, the journalist Nick Wallis has produced a book which should be read widely on the mess. There is also now a statutory inquiry which is seeking to get to the bottom of what happened, and why it happened, and how it should not happen again.

The focus of many of the accounts and much of the commentary has, rightly, been on the numerous personal and systemic failures – especially those of the Post Office management and their lawyers, and those of the software provider Fujitsu.

Those personal and systemic failures are central to what happened: none of the miscarriages of justice would have occurred without decisions by individuals (and groups of individuals) which could and should have been made differently.

And some of those decisions are such that the individuals involved should themselves be prosecuted.

But this post – and the posts which will follow this, as part of a series – is on another failure which was part of the mix.

This is the failure of the law itself and of the procedures of the courts.

And if anything, this failure of the law itself and of the procedures of the courts makes the individual decision-makers more culpable – for they knew (or should have known) how harsh the applicable law and procedure would be on the defendants, but the defendants would be prosecuted anyway.

Nothing in an account and explanation of the applicable law and procedure should be taken to limit the culpability of the Post Office management and their lawyers, and of those at the software provider Fujitsu.

In this first post let us start with what lawyers called a “presumption”.

The classic statement of this presumption is as follows:

“In the absence of evidence to the contrary, the courts will presume that mechanical instruments were in order at the material time”.

Here “mechanical instruments” include computers.

So, in other words, computers are presumed to be operating correctly, unless there is evidence to the contrary.

As a “presumption” this does not mean that the court will take this view each and every time, regardless of circumstance.

It is instead a starting-point which can be rebutted.

It is what the court will take to be the state of affairs, unless it is satisfied by evidence that it is not the state of affairs.

There is nothing inherently wrong about a court using presumptions: indeed, without presumptions, the courts could not properly operate.

Presumptions keep almost all legal cases manageable. For example, a contract will be presumed not to be a fraudulent instrument, unless it is shown to be a fake; or a defendant may be presumed not to be insane, unless shown to be insane; and so on.

Presumptions tell us what will be taken to be the state of affairs – and which party has the onus of showing whether that state of affairs is not correct.

The problems with any presumption are in what it presumes, and in what is needed to rebut it.

If the presumption is unrealistic in and of itself, or if rebuttal is unrealistic, then the presumption converts from being something that assists the course of justice to something that causes miscarriages of justice.

The presumption that computers are presumed to be operating correctly, unless there is evidence to the contrary is what lawyers call “a presumption of evidence”.

This means that a court can be satisfied that a relevant fact can be established just by computer records, unless there is evidence that the computer is not working properly.

And so when the computer record shows, for instance, a financial shortfall by postmaster or postmistress, the court will accept that as evidence of an actual shortfall – unless the defendant can show that the computer was not operating correctly.

In short, when the computer record is the essence of a prosecution case: computer says guilty.

This evidential presumption has not always been part of English law.

In 1984 a law was passed which pointed this presumption in the opposite direction.

Section 69 of the Police and Criminal Evidence Act 1984 provided:

This provision pointed the presumption in the other direction: it was for the prosecution to show that the computer was operating correctly, and not for the defendant to show that computer was not operating correctly.

This section 69 replaced the old common law position where, as stated above, in the absence of evidence to the contrary, the courts will presume that mechanical instruments were in order at the material time.

Had section 69 still been part of the law when the Post Office brought its prosecutions of post-masters and post-mistresses then the course of those cases may well have been different.

Section 69, however, was repealed in 1999:

The effect of this repeal was that the old common law presumption returned, meaning that is was again for the defendant to show that a computer was not operating correctly, rather than for the prosecutor to show that the computer was operating correctly.

How this repeal came about, and whether the reasons for that repeal were sound, will be the subject of the next post in this series.

Sources

Considerable assistance for this series of posts has come from the following articles:

The Law Commission presumption concerning the dependability of computer evidence (2020)

Recommendations for the probity of computer evidence (2021)

The legal rule that computers are presumed to be operating correctly – unforeseen and unjust consequences (2022)

A note of caution for those clapping and cheering at the latest indictment of Donald Trump

8th August 2023

(Picture credit.)

The former president of the United States is facing serious legal trouble, with a serious criminal indictment which takes seriously his role in the 6 January insurrection, and – what is more – he also faces a serious judge taking her job seriously.

No matter how many times one types “serious” it is hard to overemphasise how serious this is for Trump and, by extension, for the United States generally and for the liberal constitutionalist notion that nobody, not even Donald Trump, is above the law.

But.

Taking this seriously also should also mean that those looking on should not give way to elation and celebration.

And this is because, as with all contested litigation, there is the possibility that this case can be lost as well as won.

It is too early to be clapping and cheering.

Imagine the following scenario: the prosecution throw everything they can at Trump. Each charge is evidenced and each witness comes up to proof.

Imagine that the case against Trump could not be framed better and could not be put before the court better.

Imagine a dream prosecution, one where everything goes right.

Imagine all that and then imagine, for this is litigation and all contested litigation is ultimately uncertain, that Trump is found not guilty.

This is not actually a fanciful point: the laws being relied upon by the prosecution are not commonly prosecuted and there is doubt as to the reach of those laws.

And Trump will be fighting for his political life – and whichever lawyers he manages to employ the duration of the trial will also be seeking the best possible presentation of the defense.

There is a non-trivial possibility that Trump may be found not guilty.

What this would mean – or at least what Trump and his supporters will take it to mean – is not that Trump has escaped condemnation and conviction.

It would instead be taken to mean complete and absolute vindication of Trump both in respect of the incidents of 6 January and of his framing of the prosecution as a “witch trial”.

The consequences of such a vindication will be profound and lasting.

Of course, this possibility does not mean that the prosecution should not go ahead.

Nothing in this post should be taken to mean that the prosecution should be aborted.

The point of this post is not about prosecution practice and discretion: indeed, as far as one can tell, the prosecution is doing a good, impressive job.

The point of this post is to counter the jubilation at the indictment.

This is high-stakes litigation, in a case which may (as they say) make law.

Perhaps the prosecution wins and, after exhausting all and any appeals, Trump is held to be criminally liable for his role. If so, those opposed to Trump can then clap and cheer.

But we are not yet near that outcome, and the implications of the prosecution not succeeding need to be taken seriously too.

A great deal rides on this case, and the outcome is not certain.

Brace, brace.

****

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Sir Keir Starmer and the Litigation Turn of Mind

31st July 2023

The leader of the opposition is a former litigator, and many litigators have a certain strategy – or at least a set of tactics: a certain cautious approach.

This approach is to think backwards from what may happen at trial – indeed sometimes to think backwards from what may happen with any appeal.

This sort of litigator anticipates what can go wrong with a case and thereby acts to, as far as possible, close the potential problem(s) down.

Other litigators can be more gung-ho, trying to make the most of their case at each and every point, from aggressive letter before action to expansive claim forms. Such litigators often encounter set-backs.

The more cautious litigator looks at everything the other way round, focussing on the strengths of the other side and the weaknesses of their own.

The merit of this approach is that if and when one gets to trial one is less exposed to defeat.

And often not being defeated on key points is enough for a good result.

If both sides adopt this approach then the “winning” party will be the one who has made the fewer mistakes.

But.

Politics is not law, and a general election is not a trial.

Yes, there is a place for mitigating or even eliminating predictable lines of attack.

And that may be enough for a political party to at least avoid a heavy defeat.

It may not, however, be enough to mobilise sufficient support so as to make an outright victory more likely.

For that there needs to be a positive message: to have points that the other party instead needs to mitigate or eliminate.

This is not to say that closing down lines of attack is a bad thing, just that it is not a sufficient thing.

A cautious litigation turn of mind has its place, but campaigning is not litigation.

A political leader – even those who were once lawyers – also needs a political frame of mind.

****

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A close reading of Twitter’s legal letter to Meta: a guided tour of a weak litigation letter

7th July 2023

This is a close reading and exposition of the letter sent on behalf of Twitter to Mark Zuckerberg, the chairman and chief executive officer of Meta.

The letter is dated 5 July 2023 and has been published at the Semafor news website.

For the reasons set out below, this letter reads to this English litigation lawyer as being weak. Perhaps that view is wrong, and that there is some super-duper legal-magic which an American lawyer can see in this letter and which this post cannot.

But unless there is something which this post is missing, this is about as weak a litigation letter as can be, without the letter saying nothing substantial at all.

Please note that I am not an American lawyer, and so everything which now follows in this post should be read subject to this proviso.

In particular, I am an English lawyer (though trained at an American law firm in London) with twenty years of various experiences as a litigator, usually for potential defendants at early stages of disputes. This means I have read more litigation letters than is good for any human being.

Litigation letters really do comprise an odd and distinct genre of literature.

There is sometimes a lot going on – and sometimes a lot not going on – in a litigation letter.

You need to be able read what is there, and to work out what is not there.

Let us begin with the first paragraph of the the letter sent on behalf of Twitter to Meta:

First you will see the strange “as successor in interest” formulation of who the letter is being sent on behalf of. This is because of this recent business news:

Nothing in this post rides on this strange formulation, but it is worth noticing in case X Corp ever needs to establish any legal rights to sue.

What is more immediately interesting is the “Based on recent reports…”.

This is early warning sign of a weak letter.

The letter could say “we have direct evidence” or even “we have in our possession documentary proof which we attach”.

But the letter does not say either of these things.

Instead, the sender states that the evidence is only (news) reports.

The letter then connects these “recent reports” to “serious concerns”.

Again, this is mild.

There is no allegation of breach – just a statement of “serious concerns”.

A strong letter would begin with something like “we have in possession direct evidence [or proof] that [you are in breach of the following legal obligations]”.

But this letter backtracks straightaway from any such a robust position.

The first paragraph then seems to become aggressive: “systemic, wilful, and unlawful misappropriation”.

To an unexperienced eye this looks striking – and it is intended to look striking.

But such strident words have already been weakened by the framing.

Compare and contrast:

“we have in possession direct evidence that you are engaged in systemic, wilful, and unlawful misappropriation in breach of your legal obligations”

with

“based on reports we have concerns that you are engaged in systemic, wilful, and unlawful misappropriation”.

From this very first paragraph this does not look like a serious letter.

If the author of the letter could have put the allegations more highly then they would have done, but they did not.

And this is no doubt because they could not.

As a genre of literature litigation letters are often far more significant for what is not said than for what is said.

(This is perhaps the only thing litigation letters have in common with the prose of Jane Austen.)

A non-litigator may read such an opening as in this Twitter letter and be worried at what is said; but an experienced litigator will read that paragraph and will spot what is not said.

Now the second paragraph:

We know from the first paragraph that the allegation made in the second half of this paragraph is based on reports rather than on any other evidence and so this paragraph has to be read with this in mind.

As such the allegation is nothing more than a supposition.

The language “deliberately assigned…specific intent…in violation of…” again looks forceful, but is based only on (news) reports. No evidence is offered, let alone any proof.

(And in any case Meta denies any Threads engineers are former employees of Twitter.)

There are also no specifics in this paragraph – no particularisation at all.

There is instead the vaguest possible reference to“trade secrets and other intellectual property”.

Patents? Copyright? Trademarks?

Who knows?

Perhaps nobody knows.

The third paragraph goes over the page:

Here we have“highly confidential information” now thrown in as well, but again without specifics or particularisation.

Then there is the deft but weak “intends to strictly enforce”.

This is not even a clear and present threat to sue.

It is at best a threat to possibly sue in the future, maybe.

The “reserves all rights” is also a weak sign.

The relevant rights of Twitter will presumably exist regardless of any formal statement of reservation.

If Twitter is able to obtain civil remedies and an injunction without notice then it does not need to tell Meta that it is formally reserving its rights. Such words are ornaments not instruments.

And now look at what is not here: there is no deadline.

There is no ultimatum.

There is no “unless [x] by [y date] then we are instructed to do [z]”.

Nothing.

Now onto the fourth and penultimate paragraph:

This is framed as a warning.

But it is a warning that does not substantiate anything so far in the letter.

In essence, Meta is merely being told to conduct itself lawfully.

There is no evidence, still less proof, that Meta is doing any of the things mentioned unlawfully – just a bare accusation.

And again, as in the previous paragraph, there is no deadline or ultimatum for Meta to say it will comply with this demand.

There are no requests for undertakings.

Twitter also “reserves all rights” – but nothing in this paragraph sets out how those rights are going to be enforced.

This penultimate paragraph is thereby again just decoration.

And now the final paragraph:

At last there is some substance to the letter, but not much.

In English civil litigation there is an obligation on potential parties to a possible dispute to retain relevant evidence if they are aware that litigation is contemplated. I suspect there is a similar obligation in American civil litigation.

But in England sending a letter only to put a party on notice to retain documents for possible litigation is about level one on the litigation Richter scale.

It is the least possible substantial reason to send any litigation letter.

Such notice can make a legal difference in that Meta cannot now deny it is aware that litigation is contemplated.

This demand at least looks as if a litigation letter is doing something: that the letter is justified in its existence.

But this is a weak final paragraph to a litigation letter.

Taken in its entirety the letter is a bundle of suppositions, bare accusations, and reservations of (already existing) rights, with a small blow of the litigation trumpet with a notice to retain documents provision in the last paragraph.

No evidence is provided or even mentioned, let alone proof; there are no specifics or particularisations; no precise laws are cited; and there are no deadlines or ultimatums; and no demands for undertakings.

The letter does not even ask for a response – such as an undertaking or confirmation.

(And one thing a wise litigator does with a weak letter is not to ask for a response, as it looks yet weaker when no response will be coming.)

Overall, this is the weakest possible letter that could have been sent on behalf of Twitter to Meta – that is other than the letter having no substance at all.

Litigation letters have many (potential) audiences.

The best ones are written with the court in mind: how would this letter look to a judge? Those letters are the scary ones – and paradoxically the letters which are most likely to mean a case is resolved before court.

(The best way to avoid going to court in civil litigation is to prepare for court.)

Good litigation letters will also force the other side and their lawyers to think about their legal position afresh.

And then…

…there are letters which are the consumption of the client and/or the media.

Some clients sometimes demand that such a litigation letter is sent even when there is little or no case, and this is the sort of letter that gets sent in those circumstances.

The audience for this sort of letter is not the other side, still less the court, but the client itself – and perhaps the public and media.

Perhaps evidence will come to light of wrongdoing by Meta.

Nothing in this post – a disclaimer! – should be taken to mean that there is no possible legal case that X Corp can bring to enforce its rights against Meta.

But any such claim would require a very different letter to this one.

And that would need a very different letter – with evidence and specifics and particulars and deadlines and ultimatums. The sort of letter which this letter is not.

And if such a serious letter is sent (and published) then we will know that a serious legal situation is afoot.

But, for the reasons set out above, and from the perspective of an English litigation lawyer, this is not a serious letter.

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Understanding the government’s judicial review of the Covid Inquiry

2nd June 2023

The government of the United Kingdom has commenced a legal challenge to the recently established Covid Inquiry – an inquiry that this government had itself established.

In the words of the Covid Inquiry spokesperson yesterday:

“At 16:00 today the Chair of the UK Covid-19 Public Inquiry was served a copy of a claim form by the Cabinet Office seeking to commence judicial review proceedings against the Chair’s Ruling of 22 May 2023.”

This is an unusual judicial review.

Usually judicial reviews are brought against the government, and not by the government.

This is because judicial reviews are the normal legal means by which the High Court can be asked to assess whether a public body is acting within its legal powers.

Here, however, it is the government asking the High Court whether the Covid Inquiry – in effect, another public body – is acting within its legal powers.

Unusual, yes, but not absolutely unprecedented, as Dinah Rose KC – one of the greatest judicial review barristers – has pointed out on Twitter:

This is not the first time the Govt has judicially reviewed its own inquiry. The MoD twice JRed Lord Saville as Chair of the Bloody Sunday inquiry over the protection to be afforded to military witnesses. A High Court judge & Court of Appeal ruled on the decision of a Law Lord.

— Dinah Rose (@DinahGLRoseKC) June 2, 2023

But that said, this judicial review is still unusual.

What is this judicial review about?

From a legal perspective, it is about one word: jurisdiction.

To understand this we need to dig into some of the legal background.

First, the Inquiry was created under the Inquiries Act 2005 – and this makes the Inquiry, in the lovely phrases, “a creature of statute” or “a statutory creature”.

What this in turn means is that any inquiry created under the Act – the Covid Inquiry and otherwise – does not have universal or inherent legal powers.

An inquiry created under the Act only has legal powers within the scope of the Act – what lawyers call the “vires” of the Act.

An inquiry created under the Act thereby cannot do something “ultra vires” the Inquiries Act.

And if an inquiry does a thing ultra vires the Inquiries Act then that thing can be quashed or declared unlawful by the High Court.

Here the government maintains that the Covid Inquiry has done something ultra vires the 2005 Act.

Now we go to the section 21 Notice issued by the Covid Inquiry on 28 April 2023, in which the Inquiry demands various documents from the Cabinet Office.

This Notice is the main target of this judicial review.

This Notice is what the government is primarily asking the High Court to quash.

This judicial review is not the first attempt of the government to dislodge the Notice.

The first attempt was an Application dated 15 May 2023.

This Application was made under a provision of the Inquiries Act which provides:

“A claim by a person that— (a) he is unable to comply with a notice under this section, or (b) it is not reasonable in all the circumstances to require him to comply with such a notice, is to be determined by the chairman of the inquiry, who may revoke or vary the notice on that ground.”

But.

This Application was problematic.

You see, the Application was not actually asking the Inquiry to revoke or vary the Notice – both of which presuppose the Notice was valid in the first place.

No, the Application was telling the Inquiry that the Notice was outside the powers of the Inquiry.

As the Application stated:

“The Inquiry has no jurisdiction to request under rule 9, still less to compel under s.21, the provision to it of unambiguously irrelevant material.”

And the chair of the Inquiry picks this very point up in her ruling (emphasis added and the paragraph broken up for flow):

“I observe at the outset that I am far from persuaded that a wholesale challenge to the legality or vires of a section 21 notice is one that properly falls within the scope of section 21(4) of the 2005 Act.

“Although the application does not make this clear, I infer that it is made under subsection 21(4)(b) of the 2005 Act, which entitles the recipient of a section 21 notice to invite the Chair to vary or revoke the notice on the ground that “it is not reasonable in all the circumstances to require him to comply with [it]”.

“I understand that provision to apply to cases where the recipient of a notice accepts the notice’s validity, but wishes to engage with the Chair as to the reasonableness of complying with it. It does not obviously apply to a situation such as the present, where the recipient of the notice contends that the notice itself is unlawful.”

“The better procedure for raising arguments of that nature is, plainly, an application for judicial review.“

The chair was right – and this response indicates that she and her advisers may understand the scope of the Inquiries Act very well.

The government may have spent substantial public money on instructing the government senior external lawyer to put together a ten-page application, but ultimately the Application was the wrong horse on the wrong course.

A challenge to the jurisdiction of the Inquiry to issue the Notice should be done by judicial review – that is a formal action at the High Court.

Perhaps the government used the Application as a tactic just to get the Inquiry to change its mind, or at least state its legal position expressly – a previous post on this blog described the Application as, in effect, a letter before action.

And the Application did get the Inquiry to set out its legal position explicitly.

But the challenge the government does want to make to the Notice – and also to the Inquiry’s ruling – should be done by means of a judicial review.

Now it is.

And here is the government’s statement of facts and grounds.

What are the merits of the judicial review – that is, will the government win?

To the extent that that the government seeks to rely on the Human Rights Act and privacy rights under Article 8 of the European Convention, the government warrants all the mockery it is getting.

This is the very government that is seeking to repeal the Human Rights Act and make it harder for claimants to rely on Article 8 privacy rights.

But.

There is more to the government’s legal case than that – and there is perhaps a route to the government succeeding at the High Court – or on appeal.

Here we need to go back to the Inquiry being a creature of statute.

This means that it is not open to the Inquiry to do just what it wants and to ask for whatever it wants.

The Inquiry can only do things and ask for things within the corners of the Inquiries Act – as augmented here by the Terms of Reference of the Inquiry.

The government is unlikely to win the judicial review with wide-ranging claims about general principles of “unambiguous relevancy” or otherwise.

If the government does succeed then it will be because that, in this particular case, the correct construction of the Inquiries Act, taken in tandem with the Terms of Reference, mean that, on this one occasion, the Inquiry has done something outside of its legal powers.

If the government can show this, then the Covid Inquiry loses – and the Notice falls away.

But.

The Covid Inquiry will also have been aware of this potential legal challenge when putting the Notice together, and it would seem that the measured content of the Notice and the precision of its requests place the Notice within the scope of the Inquiries Act when read with the Terms of Reference.

In other words, the legal(istic) “prep” of the Covid Inquiry for this potential challenge was started long ago, and – unlike the impression given by the Cabinet Office – not in a rush over the last couple of weeks.

Finally, let us consider the greased piglet.

The former Prime Minister Boris Johnson is currently making more mischief than a dozen lords-of-misrule.

He appears to want to single-handedly sabotage the government’s legal case:

NEW: Boris Johnson says he is sending his unredacted WhatsApps (from May 2021 onwards) to the Covid inquiry direct.

He says he wants to pass the WhatsApps from his old phone to them too pic.twitter.com/bV0DcBrh2v

— Henry Zeffman (@hzeffman) June 2, 2023

On this, let us be careful.

There is industrial-scale misdirection afoot.

Let us wait to see what is actually disclosed – and how the Inquiry assesses that disclosure.

And note in Johnson’s letter, at the seventh paragraph, the deft and camouflaged “relevant” – and also note who he is proposing to conduct this all-important search.

We should not get too excited at such claims.

But that said, the sudden rampaging entry of Johnson into this otherwise delicate judicial review is extraordinary.

This is such an unusual judicial review – and in more than one way.

Disclosure: I am a former central government lawyer.

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Tick tock, tick tock Cabinet Office – the Covid Inquiry stand-off this weekend

26th May 2023

My post on former Prime Minister Boris Johnson and the Cabinet Office lawyers should be ready to be posted on Monday, so in the meantime this post is about the stand-off this weekend between the Cabinet Office and the Covid Inquiry.

To recap: the Covid Inquiry has immense legal powers, and it has exercised one of those powers in serving a formal section 21 notice on the Cabinet Office.

This means that unless it has a legal reason not to do so, the Cabinet Office now has to comply with that request on pain of criminal sanction.

For inquiries under the Inquiries Act are powerful legal creatures, and their formal requests are not to be taken lightly.

See my previous post on this here.

The section 21 notice was dated 28 April 2023.

And you will see in the appendices the requests for information in respect of Johnson.

The deadline for the Cabinet Office to comply with the notice has now been set by the Inquiry chair to be 4pm on 30th May 2023 – that is this coming Tuesday

Remember Monday is a bank holiday.

And today is Friday.

The initial response of the Cabinet Office was to instruct the government’s senior external lawyer – at presumably great public expense – to make a legal(istic) objection to the notice.

The Inquiry chair deftly put that Cabinet Office legal application back in its box by a ruling this week.

There now seems to be four possible outcomes of what is now a stand-off.

1. The Inquiry may extend the deadline again, but there is no evidence this has happened.

2. The Cabinet Office may comply with the request and provide the all information requested by Tuesday.

3. The Cabinet Office may not comply with the request, and it will provide either none of the information requested or not all the information requested – in effect daring the Inquiry chair to commence criminal proceedings which will then presumably be defended or otherwise challenged.

4. The Cabinet Office may make an urgent application to the High Court to either injunct the inquiry or quash the notice (or some other remedy) before the deadline of Tuesday.

If the choice is (4) then there really is not a lot of time.

I understand the Cabinet Office is considering its next step on the question of disclosure of what it unilaterally deems “unambiguously irrelevant” material.

We can bet it is.

But the stakes are now high – and there is not a lot of time to leisurely consider the position.

Unless there is an extension, the Cabinet Office has to decide before Tuesday whether to comply, to challenge, or to risk criminal sanctions.

Presumably the final decision is now with someone sufficiently senior who will then have to account for their decision.

But if the decision is to bring a legal challenge, there is almost no time left.

And if the Cabinet Office does not bring a legal challenge, then the commissioning of that expensive legal application from the so-called Treasury Devil looks a waste of public money.

If that application was sincere then the government’s position is that the Covid Inquiry chair is acting outside of her legal powers.

But if the Cabinet Office do not now go through with a legal challenge then it looks as if that application was made for tactical reasons, simply because the government does not want to disclose the documents.

Which side will blink?

And if the government does not disclose the information requested, will the Covid Inquiry chair commence criminal proceedings against the government?

The impression given by her ruling this week is that she means business.

But how the Covid Inquiry chair responds to anything less than full disclosure by the Cabinet Office on Tuesday will indicate whether that business-like impression is correct.

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