This week’s Substack essay – the Taff Vale case of 1901

29th January 2023

Over at Substack, this week’s essay for paying subscribers is on the Taff Vale case of 1901, which is generally regarded as the important trade union case in British history.

In that case the House of Lords held that a trade union could be sued for the damages caused to an employer by wrongful acts.  This exposed trade unions to significant legal peril when taking industrial action.

In my post I set out how the law and world view of the time, especially in respect of “economic torts”, meant that the trade union lost the case and why the labour movement had to look to parliament for legal change.  I also put the case in a context of other trade union cases of the time.

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Every weekend I do an essay for paying subscribers, in addition to the free-to-read law and policy topical commentary on this blog every weekday.

The essays are on aspects of legal history or the relationship between law and lore or popular culture.

Previous essays have been on:

Malone (1979) – which is for me the one case from the last fifty years which signifies the most about our constitution;

The origin of Wednesbury unreasonableness (1948) – the notion that a public body can make irrational decisions, as long as those decisions are not so unreasonable that no public body would make them; and

Dr Bonham’s case (1610) where a great judge said that there were limits to what could be done with an Act of parliament.

Like a Marshall Cavendish part-work publication of yesteryear, I am hoping these essays will build up to be an interesting library and resource in their own right, but without the dinky plastic models

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I have also posted the essays at Patreon for my Patreon supporters, and Patreon supporters and anyone who made a PayPal contribution to this blog in 2022 can have a one-year full complimentary subscription – just leave a “Private” comment below.  It is important that nobody pays “twice” for my drivel.

Thank you all for following this blog.  I would like to keep the topical commentary free, and these essays on less immediately topical subjects are a way of cross-subsidising the daily free-to-read topical posts.

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Comments are welcome, but they are pre-moderated and comments will not be published if irksome, or if they risk derailing the discussion.

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

6th December 2022

The Good Law Project has lost another court case.

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

But.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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But.

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

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

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

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

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

This is the sort of thing Denning used to do.

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

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This is not a problem about a particular claimant.

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

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

What are you going to court for?

What are you asking the judge to do?

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

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

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

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These posts are also crossposted on my new “law and lore” substack – please subscribe there if you can.

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

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

10th November 2022

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

But courts and legislatures are not “echo chambers”.

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

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

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

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But.

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

These phrases – clichés – are usually substitutes for thought.

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

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

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

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

Places like Twitter.

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

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

You can then form your own view.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is this an abuse of the law of contempt of court?

5th August 2022

I came across a case on BAILLI which I read with increasing concern, indeed dismay.

I had somehow missed the relevant litigation being reported in the news, and so I did not know anything of the case, so I came to the case report fresh.

And I could not believe what I was reading.

I am sharing it with followers of this blog now, for I am thinking about writing about the case in detail.

The case is about contempt of court – and, in particular, what a court can be asked to do by a party with an injunction against those who (supposedly) breach that injunction.

The courts of England and Wales take contempt of court seriously – very seriously – especially in respect of parties breaching the orders of the court.

Indeed, it often seems that courts take contempt of court more seriously in respect of parties breaching the orders of the court than the court will do if a party breaches a legal obligation to any other party.

But this case seems to show how contempt of court this can be abused by the injuncting party

The impression I gained on reading this case was that the injuncting party were, in effect, weaponising and misusing contempt of court for private, commercial advantage – to the effect one could discern any motivation behind what they were doing at all.

The application seemed either spiteful or irrational – for a bad reason or for no reason.

And certainly not for any good reason.

The judge was not having any of it, and these two paragraphs give a flavour of the judgment:

Before I devote the time and energy (and opportunity cost) to writing about the case, I should be grateful for the views of those following this blog.

Is this a case worth a close reading?

Is this an (attempted) abuse of power which should be be brought to a wider audience?

Or is this a storm in a lawyer’s tea cup?

Does the fact that a judge sorted it out in the end mean that nothing really untoward here happened which could not be cured?

I am currently considering writing a detailed step-by-step critique of what the injunction party sought to do here – as it seems to me to be, on the facts, vindictive and a gross misuse of the court.

I also think, in general, there must be a change so that injunctions against “persons unknown”, after this case, always require the leave of the court.

There is a Law Gazette news report here.

And Adam Wagner has done a Twitter thread here:

Let me know what you think.

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

The comments policy is here.

 

The significance of a 2014 case about stuffed toys – and why illiberal lawyer-politicians should not be underestimated

4 August 2022

Here is an amusing tax case from 2014, from eight years ago today.

You will see why I am mentioning it.

The case was about whether a toy was a stuffed toy or not.

In particular, as the tribunal put it, it was about “how two soft children’s toy animals that contained a soundbox that produced soothing sounds, intended to assist babies and children to sleep, should be classified for Customs purposes”.

If the toy was regarded as a stuffed toy its classification would have one tax consequence, and if it was not a stuffed toy it would have another consequence.

And so, eight years ago today, in Bedford Square in London, a two-person tribunal earnestly debated with two barristers about the nature of stuffed toys.

The judgment is a joy:

“The Appellant’s principal contention had been that when there was no definition of the word “stuffed”, one should look to the intended use of the product to decide whether it was stuffed. In that quest, the word “stuffed” should be taken to suggest a toy designed to be cuddled and played with by babies and children.”

Against this, the HMRC’s barrister contended:

“The products could hardly thus be said not to be stuffed, when as a pure physical matter of content they were stuffed and they plainly looked to be stuffed, and when, even on the Appellant’s test that “stuffed” meant that the toy was suitable to be cuddled, it was indeed asserted that it was a “cuddly companion and toy”.”

The tribunal considered the point carefully:

“While there is no definition of the word “stuffed” in the present context, its meaning is relatively obvious, and indeed in turning to consider the function of the product and then asserting that stuffed products can be identified because they will be soft to cuddle, the Appellant itself assumes the same obvious meaning of “stuffed” in reaching the conclusion that it must mean something along the lines that will make a toy cuddly. And what makes a toy cuddly is of course the insertion of stuffing…”

And so the tribunal concluded, with a straight face:

“this product is a cuddly toy, and that it is stuffed.”

All good fun – and it is one of those cases, like the Jaffa Cake case, which lighten up the reports of tax cases, and so add to the gaiety of the nation.

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But why is this case of interest on 4 August 2022, eight years later?

Because the victorious HMRC barrister in that case is now the Attorney General, Suella Braverman.

And the case is significant because it shows that Braverman’s bread-and-butter at the Bar was everyday public law cases.

It is often contended that Braverman is not qualified or sufficiently experienced to be an Attorney General.

But in fact she was a perfectly competent barrister specialising in public law cases and indeed was appointed to the Attorney General’s panel to conduct cases on behalf of the government.

According to Bailii, she also acted in planning cases, both successfully and unsuccessfully.

As far as can be ascertained, the Attorney General had a good, wide-ranging public law practice, including advising on human rights law.

This blog is not a fan of the Attorney General, but it is important to be fair and accurate in what can be criticised.

It is sometimes assumed – perhaps condescendingly – that the reason why some politician-lawyers are illiberal about the law is because they do not really understand the law.

But the thing about Braverman and also the Lord Chancellor Dominic Raab is that they do have experience in and knowledge of public law.

Some may say that makes their illiberalism worse – for they “should know better”.

I think that is the wrong approach.

I think one should credit the illiberals with knowing and understanding the relevant law – it is just that they do not care for it.

And this means that those of us who are liberal in their approach to the law need to make a more compelling case for it than assuming the conservatives do not “get it”.

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

The comments policy is here.

Why we should look closely at legal cases in the news – even “Wagatha Christie”

2 August 2022

There are two sorts of legal blogging that I most enjoy.

One is a close reading of a document: working out how the document was put together, and reckoning the significance of what is said – and not said.

The other is a detailed examination of a legal case in the news: answering the question of “how the Hell did this end up in court?”

Both sorts of blogposts, if done well, are very satisfying to write and seem popular to read.

Other sorts of legal blogs – from expositions of black letter law to articulations of some view point – can also be interesting.

But only with the two sorts I like doing best do I get the sheer thrill of taking something topical and, by careful analysis, producing something new for people to consider.

The one problem, however, with writing about topical cases is that you often have to take them as you find them.

The subject matter of a case may be of no interest – or it may even be about something you dislike or even hate.

But with such cases it can still be worth asking that key question: “how the Hell did this end up in court?”

And by answering this question you understand a lot more about the case in the news – and about law and legal practice generally.

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Over at Prospect I have done a detailed analysis of how the Hell the “Wagatha Christie” case ended up in court.

I have no particular interest in the WAG phenomenon.

(Though I admit I enjoyed the defendant’s initial reveal post – and I assumed wrongly that she must have put her published reasoning together with the help of legal advice, but she did not.)

I also have no particular regard for the football players to whom the parties are married.

(Neither of them play or played for Aston Villa, Wolves or Nottingham Forest, which are the teams I follow.)

But I found the case fascinating – not least because this was a case that plainly should never have gone to court.

How the Hell did this end up in court?

It was a case that should have settled the moment the claimant realised the adverse evidence that was going to be put in at trial.

No technical win could be worth the impending PR disaster.

It was even a case that, given what the claimant knew even if she did not herself leak the information, should never have even been brought.

And this was notwithstanding that the claimant’s case was strong and she could have won the case, given what the defence had to prove and the the structure of libel law.

It was just a “Nooooooooooooooo” sort of case.

But the case was brought and not settled and it ended in a mess.

Cases that go to trial are often inherently interesting – they are exceptional.

By understanding what happens with cases that do end up in court, you also can gain a better understanding of why most such civil cases do not end up going to trial.

And this means you can have a better understanding of how the legal system works (or does not work) more widely.

As Ben Goldacre – whose science blogging was a model for my early legal blogging – once said: by understanding “bad science” you can get an understanding of good science.

Similarly by looking carefully at how cases get to trial you can get insights at how litigation works more generally.

Please do have a read of my Prospect piece – and come back and leave any sensible comment.

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Forgive me blowing this here trumpet:

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

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

How defamation is like trespass

1st August 2022

Writing about the Wagatha Christie case reminded me of this thought I once had.

Defamation is an odd tort, and to my mind it is a lot like trespass to land, which is another odd tort.

Odd, as in distinctive.

When a person goes on the land of another, and the land owner wants to sue, the land owner has to prove they own the land and that there is/was an intrusion.

It is then for the defendant to prove that they had a right to enter the land, such as a licence.

Similarly when a person defames the reputation of another, and the defamed person wants to sue, the defamed person has to prove that they have a reputation in the jurisdiction and that the defaming statement related to them.

It is then for the defendant to prove that what they say is true or a fair opinion or some other defence.

Trespasser/defamer; land/reputation; and the onus being on the defendant to justify the intrusion/statement.

It is almost as if the law conceives of a reputation almost as a property right, and the presumption is against any rightful intrusion/defamation.

The cry of “get orf my land” transforms into “get orf my reputation”.

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One criticism often made of libel law is that it is on the defendant to prove a defence.

The claimant does have to prove certain things: that they have a reputation in the jurisdiction; that there was defamatory statement published to the third party; and that the defamatory statement caused (or is likely to cause) serious harm.

So it is not true that a libel claimant does not have to prove anything.

But once these things are shown, it swings to the defendant to prove their defence, and not for the claimant to disprove it.

That this is a practical problem for defendants is obvious.

But the question is whether it could be done any other way?

Just as it would not be for the landowner to prove an intruder has not got a licence, should it be for the defamed person to disprove a defamatory statement of fact?

Surely the person defaming another should have their factual basis in place before defaming another?

Until and unless this problem of the reverse burden of proof is addressed, then many attempts at libel reform will not succeed

This is because many of the problems of libel in practice flow from this key shift in who has to prove what.

 

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

 

 

A guide to today’s “Wagatha Christie” judgment – a case that should not have gone to trial

29th July 2022

Later today, at noon in the United Kingdom, the so-called “Wagatha Christie” libel judgment will be handed down by the High Court in London.

As I happen to practise in media law, I thought this may be a useful moment to explain some things about defamation law in general as well about this (for many) entertaining case in particular.

For there is one glaringly obvious feature of this case, whatever the result and regardless of how it has added to the gaiety of the nation.

This is a case that should never have gone to trial.

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On 9 October 2019, the United Kingdom was still a member of the European Union, Boris Johnson had only recently become Prime Minister, nobody had heard of COVID-19, and Coleen Rooney tweeted the following:

The tweet is still there, and she also published this on Instagram and Facebook.

This tweet followed another one from earlier that year:

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Now, the United Kingdom has left the European Union, Johnson is about to depart as Prime Minister, pandemic lockdowns have come and gone, and we are today finally to find out what, if any, legal liability Rooney has for publishing this statement.

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Rebekah Vardy was not not happy with the statement – which was seen by millions.

The watching public were highly amused, and the impressive detective work set out in the statement led to Rooney being dubbed “Wagatha Christie”.

It appears that Rooney sought to settle the case at this early stage.

According to a news report during the case in The Sun that referred to a witness statement of Rooney:

That May 2020 date may be significant, as it seems to be an offer to settle before the claim was even issued.

If so, that pre-action attempt to settle was unsuccessful.

For on 12 June 2020 Vardy issued a claim in libel against Rooney.

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Libel is a complex and, for some, counter-intuitive area of law.

In a claim for libel, the claimant has to (in general) show two things.

The first is that there was a publication in writing (or another permanent form) to a third party – and here there is no doubt.

And the second is that the publication is defamatory of the claimant, that the average person reading the statement would think badly of the claimant – and here, again, there was no doubt.

Indeed, there was no dispute between the parties that the statement – or what lawyers call “the words complained of” – was defamatory.

And once the claimant has shown these two things then (again in general) the onus switches to the defendant to show that the statement is true, or honest opinion, in the public interest, or was said on a privileged occasion, such as in court or in parliament.

In this way, it is for the defendant to do the expensive spade work of showing that they can lawfully make the allegation, and not for the claimant to disprove the allegation.

So here the burden was on Rooney to show her detective work was sound and her conclusion correct, and not Vardy to show it was unsound.

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But.

What is the meaning of the words complained of?

The meaning is important as it would, in turn, frame what Rooney would have to show to defend this claim.

And so this would be the first matter for a judge to decide – and that was to be in November 2020.

Here it is worth noting that according to the news report above, Rooney sought a second time to settle this case, in October 2020 before that hearing, and she was again unsuccessful.

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You may think that the meaning of the words complained of was obvious.

Oh no.

This was a matter of dispute.

Rooney (and her lawyers) contended that the meaning was that:

“there are reasonable grounds to suspect that the Claimant was responsible for consistently passing on information about the Defendant’s private Instagram posts and stories to The Sun newspaper.”

Here Rooney (and her lawyers) emphasised the references to it being Vardy’s account, rather than Vardy directly.

Vardy (and her lawyers) in turn contended that the words complained of meant:

“that the Claimant has consistently and repeatedly betrayed the Defendant’s trust over several years by leaking the Defendant’s private and personal Instagram posts and stories for publication in the Sun Newspaper including a story about gender selection in Mexico; a story about the Defendant returning to TV; and a story about the basement flooding in the Defendant’s new house.”

Vardy’s contended meaning would be harder for Rooney to prove.

At a preliminary hearing in November 2020, the judge largely agreed with Vardy and held that the meaning of the words complained of was:

“Over a period of years Ms Vardy had regularly and frequently abused her status as a trusted follower of Ms Rooney’s personal Instagram account by secretly informing The Sun newspaper of Ms Rooney’s private posts and stories, thereby making public without Ms Rooney’s permission a great deal of information about Ms Rooney, her friends and family which she did not want made public.”

This was a set-back for Rooney, and it was seen at the time as a victory for Vardy.

The judge dismissed the argument that the average reader of the words complained of would realise that it would not just be Vardy personally who had access to Vardy’s account.

(For what it is worth, I think this was an error by the judge.)

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This decision could have been the end of the matter.

For as the judge explained:

“It is almost always helpful for the meaning of the alleged libel to be identified at an early stage. Sometimes this will lead to the end of the case, because the words are not defamatory, or because they bear a meaning which the defendant cannot defend, or for some other reason. In any event, a decision on meaning will always have a bearing on at least one of the other issues in the case.”

And the judge congratulated himself and the court:

“As this case illustrates, the process of deciding meaning is a quick and efficient one. I have heard this trial and given judgment only two months after the order for such a trial was made.”

However, it seems that the effect this decision on meaning was to make this case more complicated and time-consuming.

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The parties then amended their pleaded cases and sought to settle the case.

According to the news report above, Rooney’s third attempt to settle the case was in January 2021, after the “meaning” decision was handed down

But for some reason the case was not settled.

Sometimes cases do not settle because one party is adamant that they want their day in court, and so will refuse any settlement offer.

Sometimes the settlement offers are too low.

And sometimes, parties can get trapped by how they are funded so that they have to continue with the case as that is the least bad option.

Who knows.

But for some reason this case continued after three reported attempts to settle, and the case was now going to become far more expensive and complicated.

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Rooney’s legal team now had a challenge on their hands.

A further preliminary hearing, before a different judge (and who is the trial judge who will be handing down judgment), took place in June 2021.

Vardy (and her lawyers) sought to strike out Rooney’s amended case, especially references to Vardy’s close relationship with journalists at The Sun.

Rooney (and her lawyers) were now building an “inferential” case – that it could be inferred from other evidence that Vardy was providing private information to journalists and that would go to the sting of the allegation.

As the judge said: “an exceptionally close relationship between the claimant and the newspaper or journalists to whom the Posts are alleged to have been provided is one of the building blocks on which the defendant’s inferential case is built”. 

In other words: the determination on meaning had resulted in Rooney (and her lawyers) widening their case, so that it could be inferred from similar facts that Vardy leaked Rooney’s Instagram posts.

Vardy’s strike out application was not wholly successful.

For example, the judge said of one part of the application: “While these paragraphs do not go to the core issues, the allegation that the claimant had, or was the primary source for, a gossip column about professional footballers and their partners in The Sun is logically probative similar fact evidence.”

This court decision was, to invoke an analogy, where the match started turning against Vardy.

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And then there was the fateful preliminary hearing in February 2022.

This was the hearing where the parties made applications and counter application, and sought to get certain evidence included and excluded.

The judgment of this preliminary – not final – hearing is 56 pages, with 203 paragraphs.

This judgment is where we find that the evidence of Vardy’s agent “is that in August 2021 she lost the mobile phone that she had used during the period January 2019 to August 2021. The respondent states that this occurred while on a boat trip during a holiday, when the boat hit a wave, and she accidentally dropped her phone.”

We also become aware of the following message of Vardy:

“Would love to leak those stories x”

You can understand why Vardy would want such a message excluded from evidence, but her application to exclude it failed.

And so on.

What had happened is that Rooney (and her lawyers) had followed up their widening of their case with successfully having evidence put in about Vardy and her agent leaking stories generally.

At this stage, even if Vardy succeeded in the libel claim against Rooney, it was becoming obvious that any trial would be a PR disaster for her.

Any settlement at this stage must have been preferable to Vardy.

But still the case did not settle.

Instead it went for full trial in May this year.

And the proceedings were, as I have averred, a tonic for the gaiety of the nation:

A good time was had by (almost) all.

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Vardy can still win the case today.

Any inferential case is difficult – and proving Vardy herself leaked or directed the leaks of Rooney’s posts may be difficult.

If Rooney does not prove the following then she loses:

“Over a period of years Ms Vardy had regularly and frequently abused her status as a trusted follower of Ms Rooney’s personal Instagram account by secretly informing The Sun newspaper of Ms Rooney’s private posts and stories, thereby making public without Ms Rooney’s permission a great deal of information about Ms Rooney, her friends and family which she did not want made public.”

But.

Winning a legal case is not the same as winning in the court of public opinion.

And it may be that the costs consequences of Vardy “winning” may be horrendous if Vardy turned down a so-called “Part 36 Offer” (or similar) that offered to settle at a higher amount.

That a case like this will have four published judgments does not reflect well on our legal system.

That the legal costs will be very high – and to many obscenely astronomical – also does not reflect well on our legal system.

Libel litigation, however, can be highly technical and resource-consuming.

Instead of only the “meaning” being dealt with briskly in November 2020, there is really no good reason why the whole of the case could not have been done briskly, instead of the elaborate applications and counter-applications, strike outs and disclosures, amendments and oppositions.

And if it could not have heard briskly, it is a case that should have settled at the first available opportunity.

Libel litigation can grow like topsy, and often does.

And the point of libel litigation?

Well, supposedly the aim of libel litigation is “vindication”.

But after the PR horrors of the trial, it is difficult to see how Vardy comes out of this case well, even if she wins later today.

In seeking to vindicate her reputation, the practical effect of Vardy’s libel claim has been to undermine it.

This is a case that should never have gone to trial.

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Comments Policy

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Boris Johnson did not “see off” Brenda Hale – so why did he say that he had?

 

On 25 July 2019 it was announced that Lady Hale would retire as President of the Supreme Court:

The retirement was to be on 10 January 2020.

This retirement was because of the operation of the mandatory retirement age for judges, which in the case of Lady Hale meant she had to retire by when she became 75 on 31 January 2020.

Lady Hale’s retirement by 31 January 2020 was thereby inevitable.

There was nothing she – or anyone else – could do about it.

This retirement announcement was made the day after a certain Boris Johnson, the now departing Prime Minister, took office.

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Yesterday the now departing Prime Minister Boris Johnson said in the House of Commons:

“With iron determination we saw off Brenda Hale and we got Brexit done.”

But it was not Boris Johnson and his government that “saw off Brenda Hale” but the Judicial Pensions Act 1959 (as amended and unamended by subsequent legislation).

So what did he mean?

In terms of practical litigation, the statement also makes no sense.

The two key Brexit cases that reached the Supreme Court under the presidency of Brenda Hale – known as Miller 1 and Miller 2 – were cases which the government lost.

Indeed, Miller 2 – which held that Boris Johnson’s attempt to prorogue Parliament was unlawful – was when that unconstitutional antic was “seen off”.

So presumably he does not mean that, either.

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What I suspect he means is that he got “Brexit done” despite the various litigation attempts to shape, delay or frustrate Brexit.

The two Miller cases were, strictly speaking, constitutional cases where the judiciary upheld the rights of the legislature against executive overreach.

But the more ardent supporters of Brexit did not – and still do not – see it that way.

And there were certainly other – less well conceived – legal cases which sought to stop Brexit, such as the “Article 50 challenge” cases.

If this suspicion is correct, then Brenda Hale is being used by Boris Johnson as a shorthand for all the legal challenges and obstructions which were made to Brexit, real or imagined.

Or, alternatively, Brenda Hale is being used as a shorthand for all those constitutional checks and balances that prevented Boris Johnson doing as he wished with the ship of state.

If so, these interpretations would accord with something else the Prime Minister said yesterday:

“The Leader of the Opposition and the deep state will prevail in their plot to haul us back into alignment with the EU as a prelude to our eventual return.”

Perhaps it should not be a surprise that Boris Johnson would use the phrase “deep state” at the despatch box – a term used by certain political conspiracy theorists.

Perhaps him using that terms is an indication of the deep state we are actually in.

If the above is correct, then the meaning of what Johnson said yesterday is that he saw off the “deep state” in its judicial manifestation and got Brexit done, though the “deep state” in its other manifestations are now seeking to reverse Brexit.

This is not a healthy frame of mind.

And if this thinking (or lack of thinking) becomes more widely shared, it does not bode well for a healthy polity.

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Even if Boris Johnson was correct and that, in some meaningful way, he had “seen off” the President of the Supreme Court, then it would still be worrying that this was something any Prime Minister wanted to boast and gloat about.

Such gloating and boasting – well based or not – signifies a hyper-partisan approach to politics, the separation of powers and the rule of law.

As with other checks and balances in the constitution, Boris Johnson sees them as things to be defeated and for those defeats to be seen as personal triumphs.

Even though those who clap and cheer Boris Johnson in doing this would be the first to complain, from constitutional first principle, if an opposition politician such as Jeremy Corbyn or Keir Starmer did the same.

And imagine the sheer fury if any judge boasted and gloated that they had “seen off” Boris Johnson.

Boris Johnson’s conspiratorial hyper-partisanship is dangerous, and so it is a good thing that Boris Johnson is now going.

But just as Trumpism has continued in the United States even after Donald Trump’s departure from the presidency, the worry is that this Johnsonian frame of mind, with its deep state conspiracy-thinking and contempt for checks and balances, will linger.

For, if anything, that is what needs to be “seen off”.

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“Oh no, not again” – the story of the Human Rights Act and of the new “Bill of Rights”

23rd June 2022

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“Curiously enough, the only thing that went through the mind of the bowl of petunias as it fell was ‘Oh no, not again’.”

– Douglas Adams, The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy

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Legal and constitutional commentators are the petunias of the modern age.

The current bout of constitutional excitements started in around 2015, and these excitements have carried on relentlessly since.

Again and again the government has threatened to do something – or done something – drastic in respect of our constitutional arrangements.

Seven or so years later it is rather exhausting to keep up.

And giving up is tempting.

But keep up we must, as these are serious matters – even if government and its political and media supporters do not take them seriously.

For the political and media supporters of government will clap and cheer at each of these constitutional disturbances – and will delight in the ‘libs’ being ‘owned’.

Well, this ‘lib’ is more bored than owned.

But commentary must be offered, if only as a corrective to the narratives of those currently in power and those who support them.

And so this is the story of the Human Rights Act 1998 and the supposed “Bill of Rights” with which the government wants to replace it.

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Before the Second World War, a certain sort of English person would have boasted not of having rights but of having liberties.

The notion was that an English person was free to do whatever they wish, unless it was prohibited.

The self-image was of a robust anti-authoritarianism – and it was an image which gained wide purchase.

And to an extent it was a fair depiction – the powers of the Crown had generally been made subject to Parliament, and most exercises of state power could be contested before a court.

But.

The Victorian doctrine of parliamentary supremacy – which asserted that Parliament could make or un-make any power it wanted – had as an unfortunate implication that the subject was powerless in the face of a determined executive dominating the legislature.

This implication was noticed by, among others, a Lord Chief Justice – Lord Hewitt – who in 1929 published The New Despotism warning of the illiberal power of the British state.

And in the Second World War what Hewitt warned of in theory was carried out in practice with the government’s use of the defence regulations.

For all the comforting self-image, there was not in practice robust English liberties that would actually protect the subject against the king’s government – let alone the citizen against the state.

Perhaps there never had been.

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Following the Second World War there was a spate of international conferences and organisations that purported to declare and protect rights.

One of these, of course, was the European Convention on Human Rights.

This convention provided for a number of rights, contained in articles.

Some of the rights were set out in the original convention, and some were added in later protocols.

The convention was connected to the Council of Europe, which now comprises most European states:

By being party to the convention, a country agrees to be bound by the convention as a matter of international law.

Some claim that the convention was promoted by Winston Churchill and drafted by Conservative lawyers – but their contribution should not be overstated (see this fine book for what did happen).

The United Kingdom at the time the convention was ratified in 1951 did not see the convention as controversial or as being inconsistent with domestic law.

The convention did not only provide for rights but it also established a court to determine whether any signatory – as a matter of international law – was in breach of its obligations under the convention.

That court is the European Court of Human Rights in Strasbourg, of which you may have heard.

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What happened next is not widely known.

As is described in a House of Commons library paper:

“Although the UK ratified the European Convention on Human Rights in 1951, it was 1965 before the UK Government declared, by an option under then Article 25 of the Convention, that it would accept the jurisdiction of the Court in relation to individual complaints. The optional clause was debated in late 1980, amid charges that the Court was “interfering with the exercise of parliamentary sovereignty” and “limiting [the UK’s] freedom of action”, but in 1981 and subsequently it was accepted for five more years. In 1994, during the negotiation of Protocol 11, the UK tried in vain to ensure that the right of individual petition would remain optional. The Government thought the Court had too much power, and the possibility of non-renewal of individual petition would act as a check on its authority.”

The United Kingdom did not allow anyone to actually petition the Strasbourg court until 1964.

And until relatively recently – the mid-1990s – governments of all parties resisted the reach of the Strasbourg court.

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This resistance had the following effects.

First, it created immense costs and delays for individuals who wanted the United Kingdom to comply with its international obligations.

For example, in the case of Malone – in my view, one of the most important constitutional cases in the last hundred years – a 1977 incident did not reach a Strasbourg judgment until 1984.

There the Strasbourg court held that any surveillance of the individual by the state had to have a lawful basis.

The English court had held, in effect, that just as it was open to any subject to do as they wish unless prohibited, it was also open to state bodies to do as they wished unless prohibited.

That’s robust English liberties, for you.

The Malone decision in turn led to the United Kingdom placing its surveillance regime onto a legal – and thereby legally contestable basis.

But it took seven years for the judgment to happen.

Second, it meant that lawyers developed various means of referring to Strasbourg jurisprudence in domestic courts.

I remember seeing this article as a law student in the mid-1990s:

By then it was getting rather silly.

A United Kingdom litigant seeking to rely on their convention rights had to go to the cost and delays of going to Strasbourg, or had to find a clever lawlerly way of relying on Strasbourg caselaw in a domestic case.

But what that litigant could not do is rely on their convention rights in a straightforward way before the domestic courts – even though the United Kingdom was bound by the convention (and by the Strasbourg court’s interpretation of the convention) as a matter of international law.

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And then, in 1997, the electorate of the United Kingdom returned a Labour government:

Things could only get better, or so people thought.

And one thing the government did to make things better was to introduce legislation so that the convention could be relied on in domestic courts.

This would not only solve the increasingly absurd problem of the costs and delays of individual petition and indirect reliance, it also gave effect to a key provision of the Good Friday Agreement which was signed in April 1998.

One of the express bases of that agreement was that the convention had to be capable of being directly enforced in the courts of Northern Ireland – in particular against the Northern Irish Assembly:

And so the Human Rights Act 1998 came into being, which allowed direct access to the courts for breaches of the convention, and not just for those in Northern Ireland.

As the government of the day boasted in an allusion to the popular football song: rights were brought home:

The Act took effect on 2 October 2000.

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But.

The Human Rights Act never gained universal support.

This is for, I think, two main reasons.

First, the popular media disliked how English judges created an entirely new tort – misuse of private information – on the back of the 1998 Act.

The Act does not expressly provide for any such cause of action.

But case-by-case, the courts crafted a new basis for suing for breaches of privacy.

And the courts did not ‘develop’ the corresponding right of free expression in any comparable way.

Few reporters and editors came to see the Human Rights Act as an instrument that would protect them like their American counterparts who could point to their constitutional rights.

Second, the politics following 2001 and 9/11 pushed against human rights protections.

It is difficult to imagine the Human Rights Act being enacted after 2001 had it not been enacted before.

The Labour governments became more illiberal, as anti-terrorist act followed anti-terrorist act.

And by 2006:

Human rights may well have come home – but they were now unloved by the Act’s own parents.

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At this time, the then-opposition Conservatives were becoming even more opposed to the Human Rights Act than the Labour government.

So also in 2006:

The 2010 Conservative manifesto (twelve years ago):

“To protect our freedoms from state encroachment and encourage greater social responsibility, we will replace the  Human Rights Act with a UK Bill of Rights.”

The 2015 Conservative manifesto (seven years ago):

“The next Conservative Government will scrap the Human Rights Act, and introduce a British Bill of Rights. This will break the formal link between British courts and the European Court of Human Rights, and make our own Supreme Court the ultimate arbiter of human rights matters in the UK.”

The 2017 Conservative manifesto (five years ago) placed a foot on the ball:

“We will not repeal or replace the Human Rights Act while the process of Brexit is underway but we will consider our human rights legal framework when the process of leaving the EU concludes.”

And then most recently, in the 2019 Conservative manifesto:

“We will update the Human Rights Act and administrative law to ensure that there is a proper balance between the rights of individuals, our vital national security and effective government.”

As it happens the government elected on the back of that latest manifesto is not prosing to “update” the Human Rights Act but now to repeal it – at least in form.

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Alongside these manifesto commitments, there have been various attempts to find a practical way of repealing or updating the 1998 Act.

In 2011 there was a commission established by the government:

But this went nowhere.

In 2014 the then justice secretary launched a new attack at Conservative party conference.

And that went nowhere.

And in 2015-16, the then prime minister was again about to take on the Human Rights Act – and may well have done so but for Brexit:

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And now, in 2022, we have yet another attempt to repeal the Human Rights Act, twenty-five years after the Human Rights Bill was introduced by the incoming Labour government.

The difference now, however, is that the proposals have reached the stage of draft legislation before Parliament.

And the justice secretary proposing the new legislation, Dominic Raab, is a long-term opponent of the Human Rights Act and was the junior justice minister under Cameron responsible charged with finding an alternative to the Act.

In effect, the Human Rights Act is Moby Dick to Raab’s Captain Ahab.

It does not matter that the criminal justice system is in crisis, scarce ministerial time and departmental resources will be devoted to repealing the 1998 Act.

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The 1998 Act is unlikely to survive this assault.

There is enough time for the bill to pass before the next general election, and there is sheer determination to get the bill through.

But.

The essentials of the Act will remain.

The Good Friday Agreement will still require that the convention can be given direct effect in the courts of Northern Ireland.

The United Kingdom will still be bound by the convention as a matter of international law.

If the domestic courts do not protect convention rights then litigants can still go to Strasbourg.

The United Kingdom will still be required to comply with the decisions of the Strasbourg court.

And resourceful lawyers – and judges – will still find ways of referring to Strasbourg jurisprudence in domestic courts when determining convention rights.

And so one consequence of the new bill is that cost and expense will be added to the process of relying on convention rights under a treaty that will still bind the United Kingdom under international law.

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As this blog set out yesterday, the core of the new bill is the same as the 1998 Act.

The convention rights are still listed in the schedule; the definition of convention rights is the same; and the key obligation on public authorities to comply with the convention is also the same.

What the bill does is to introduce a number of provisions that will make it far more difficult for litigants to rely on those rights in domestic courts.

Over at the blog of Professor Mark Elliott there is an outstanding post – written within a day of the publication of the new bill – that details all the new legislative contraptions and devices, the purpose of which is to inconvenience the litigant seeking to rely on their convention rights.

Elliott’s post should be read and circulated as widely as possible.

And Elliott’s conclusion is compelling:

“the Government’s strategy appears to involve making it more difficult for human rights to be enforced in UK law both by marginalising the domestic influence of the ECtHR and by limiting the capacity of domestic courts to uphold Convention rights.”

And this is why – jaded and fatigued as any sensible person must be who is keeping up with this government’s ongoing attack on our constitutional arrangements – we have to be vigilant about this latest exercise in limiting the ability of individuals to rely on rights which the United Kingdom is bound to protect by international law.

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The government is not – and cannot – take the United Kingdom out of the European Convention of Human Rights – at least not without breaching the Good Friday Agreement.

The government is still obliged to give effect under international law to the rights contained in convention – and individuals will still have the right to petition the court.

But after twenty years of trying, the current government party has put forward the means of attacking the Human Rights Act by limiting the ready enforcement of these rights by individuals.

And so as a bowl of petunias once no doubt thought: brace, brace.

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