Constitutional Reform – A Labour of love?

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2 March, 2014
Constitutional Law, Harry Dyson, Human Rights Law, North East Law Review Blog Competition
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tonyblair

 (Image source: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2138668/Im-ready-comeback-Blairs-millions-quitting–wants-engage-UK-politics.html)

 – Harry Dyson (LLB Law, Newcastle University) h.dyson@newcastle.ac.uk

Constituents being able to sack their own MP, televised trials, Scottish independence, and prisoner’s rights to vote; these are all constitutionally significant changes that have been proposed.  The Government have shown little in the way of support for any of these, and in the case of Scotland outright opposition. The Government should exercise caution in passing any constitutionally significant legislation and take a hard look at constitutional reform implemented by New Labour.

With our Constitution being more complex and ambiguous than Starbucks’s tax return, how did New Labour fare in their plight to modernise it? An un-written constitution is a wonderful thing, it facilitates modernisation and social change. However the reforms since 1997 have shown both the positives and negatives of an un-written constitution. New Labour’s reforms principally advocate one message to any government aiming to reform; partisan politics have no place in such a process.

The House of Lords have been a thorn in the side of the Labour Party since the days of Ramsay Macdonald, and in 1999 New Labour fought back. The main weapon in Blair’s arsenal being the House of Lords Act 1999. The casualty of this fight against the Lords was unfortunately the relationship between the two houses, which was unwittingly reshaped. The creation of life peerages and the reduction of hereditary peerages to just 92, as pledged in their manifesto, aimed to be more proportionate of Parliament therefore Labour wielding more power. However this unwittingly granted the Lord’s a slither of the one thing that could make them more powerful; legitimacy. Thus the Lords started to challenge their constitutional role, starting with constitutional conventions. That very same year Lord Strathclyde boasted that the convention that the Lords would not veto secondary legislation was ‘dead’. Lib-Dem Lords went as far as to openly oppose the Salisbury convention! Labour’s partisan legislation thus unwittingly inspired a train of thought advocating the Lords vetoing manifesto pledges – counter-productive for both our democracy as a whole and for the Labour Party.  The 1999 Act was short sighted and failed to protect conventions which are key to our democracy. Lesson one; stay well clear of partisan party politics.

A question that will haunt Tony Blair forever; did New Labour get anything right? The Human Rights Act 1998. This radical constitutional change was carried out very well. The 1998 Act incorporated most of the Human Rights Act into our law. However it did so while protecting the holy grail of constitutional theory; Parliamentary sovereignty. Dicey advocates Parliament is not ‘politically sovereign’ – It would be almost impossible, politically, to repeal the HRA without a suitable replacement. However legally Parliament could repeal it whenever they pleased. The Act allows the court simply to file a declaration of incompatibility if new legislation breaches the convention. So Parliament could in theory legislate contrary to every article in the ECHR. Despite this the ECHR is seemingly obeyed, for example the Belmarsh case. Here it was held the Anti-Terrorism Crime and Security Act 2001 incompatible and Parliament swiftly amended it as appropriate. The Act may have appeared moderate by having such limited court power, however understanding of Diceyan theory explains why this approach works well. New Labour exercised the caution and restraint here that was missing in their Lords reform. Lesson two; respect Dicey.

Maintaining the separation of powers is an underlying theme throughout Labour’s reform. The Constitutional Reform Act 2005 removed the Law Lords from the Upper Chamber and removed the Lord Chancellor’s judicial functions. This stripped Blair’s old friend and mentor Lord Irvine of the role of speaker of the Lords – a welcome modernisation. This constitutional reform, in contrast to Lords reform, although not escaping criticism, showed almost apolitical legislation. Any future constitutionally significant legislation will have to, in order to benefit the country, be somewhat apolitical in nature. Lesson Three; to coin a phrase used by Ramsay Macdonald in 1929 – reform should ‘put country before party’.

Allowing prisoners to vote may seem a fresh liberal approach, and yet another chance to throw around the term ‘human rights’, however it should be looked at with both foresight and caution. Lords reform is a prime example. I wouldn’t go as far to suggest that the ‘criminal vote’ would have a significant impact on British politics – however how would the political parties win this vote? If this would cause a lean in policies ever so slightly towards prisoner friendly policy, is this something we can allow? Despite the fact Labour may benefit from a prisoner vote, perhaps it should follow Blair’s stead in the case of the Lord Chancellor and put country before party.

Televising trials is also a risky proposal. The media already have an unwelcome influence on trials, especially given the lack of anonymity for defendants (Operation Yewtree being a prominent example), should we really be welcoming more? The possible political influence also shouldn’t be underestimated, as we have seen before in the Venables case. Labour’s reforms were successful because of their maintaining of the separation of powers – keeping politics out of the courtroom. Once again caution has to be exercised. In the meantime Mr Pistorius will be making for interesting viewing.

Scottish independence would easily dwarf Labour’s efforts in terms of constitutional reform. The unintended results of relatively minor Lords reform should be a huge warning shot to politicians on both side of the debate. Should Scotland vote for their independence it will prove to be the biggest ever test of a Government’s ability to implement constitutional reform.

Whatever your political persuasion one thing is clear; the Government of the day need to take extreme care in even the most moderate of reforms. New Labour’s efforts were on the whole beneficial for our country, however they highlight the need for foresight and caution. Scotland’s bid for independence is currently the biggest threat to our constitution, the changes it would force could have very unpleasant results in the long term for our constitution. However what is for certain is that a yes vote on the 18th of September would make for a very interesting couple of years for Public Law students and commentators.

 

Judicial Diversity: A Gradual Process

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1 March, 2014
Law & Equality, Law & Practice, Michael Keightley, North East Law Review Blog Competition
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The-11-judges-sworn-in-fo-001

Image Source: http://static.guim.co.uk/sys-images/Guardian/Pix/pixies/2009/10/1/1254436575766/The-11-judges-sworn-in-fo-001.jpg

– Michael Keightley (LLB Law, Newcastle University) m.keightley@hotmail.co.uk

First of all, it makes sense to start with some important statistics regarding judicial diversity in the last twelve years. Starting from April 2001 the percentage of women in the judiciary has increased from 14.1% to 24.3% by April 2013, with those of an ethnic minority in the judiciary increased from 1.9% in April 2001 to 4.8% in April 2013. This is a gradual increase over the past twelve years, but that is only a general average. Baroness Hale raises some more specific, and less positive, statistics: “only 26.6% of the upper tribunal judiciary are woman, though 11% are BME” and no BME or women are sitting as Court of Appeal judges, Heads of Division and there only one woman in the Supreme Court, which is Baroness Hale herself.

All of which begs the question: why is there such a lack of diversity in the judiciary? And does diversity even matter?

The lack of diversity is, obviously, a poor representation of the general population. Considering the judiciary are empowered to adjudicate upon and enforce constitutional principles, then they should both represent and uphold constitutional principles of diversity and equality. The duality between the representation of values and the upholding of values is crucial to the question of whether or not diversity in the judiciary really matters.

It is mere common sense that the judiciary should represent the constitutional principles they aim to enforce, or face the label of hypocrisy, with principles of equality and diversity being at the forefront when you consider the secular and diverse nature of the United Kingdom. However, what is more important than the face-value representation of equality and diversity is the enforcement of equality and diversity. For example, if there was a candidate for the position of a judge then merit would be the obvious primary influence upon the choice over gender or ethnicity. This is reflected in s.63 of the Constitutional Reform Act 2005, which states that selection must be based on merit and ‘good character’. However, considering the current lack of diversity in the judiciary, if two candidates were of equally ‘good character’ and one was a female of an ethnic minority and the other was a white male, it would be the constitutional duty of the selecting body to enforce the principles of diversity and give priority to the first candidate to promote judicial diversity. Sadly, the lines are not that clear-cut and the situation is simple in theory alone. But generally it is easy to conclude that even though both the representation and enforcement of equality and diversity are important, they are not of equal importance.

Although, this view is quite basic as it fails to consider further implications of a lack of judicial diversity and merely assumes that judicial diversity has no implications beyond that of the face-value representation in the courts. Keith Vaz, MP, argues the important point that “a more diverse judiciary would bring different perspectives to bear on the development of the law and to the concept of justice itself.” It would be nonsensical to ignore the fact that somebody’s social background can influence the development of the law; and that a diverse set of backgrounds is likely influence the development of the law in a more positive manner. It is important to recognise that generations of females and people from ethnic minorities may have “broken the glass ceiling, but to make this achievement worthwhile others have to follow and do better.” Both democracy and justice are perpetually evolving concepts, yet they will fail to develop at a satisfying rate if the judiciary that interprets and enforces the law does not do that to a standard that runs parallel to the standards the public expects. Thereby leading only to a serious risk of undermining public confidence in the courts if the judiciary is not diverse.

The problem itself needs to be traced back further than just to the selection process of the judiciary. There is a much more representative amount of both women and ethnic minorities graduating with degrees, with women often outweighing men in most universities. Not to mention, for law students, there are schemes offered by The Law Society offering various scholarships, the most relevant of which is the Diversity Access Scheme. This scheme helps provide financial assistance to those who have faced exceptional obstacles in the course of gaining a professional qualification and are wanting to fund their year doing the LPC or Bar. On the surface it appears that there is encouragement of diversity and the promotion of equality at a basic level. But somewhere in between university graduates and the judiciary members there is a significant dip in representation.

This leads to the conclusion of two broad theories. The first being that there is a lack of diversity within the judiciary because there are still structures such as the Old Boy’s Network that exist and consequently encourage the white, middle-class male figure to dominate the judiciary. The second, being the more positive theory, which is that the diverse nature of the judiciary is simply yet to fully develop as there have been developments in diversity; with 1.9% of the judiciary from an ethnic minority and 14.1% female in 2001, which has gradually increased to 4.2% and 22.6% respectively. There may be a simple answer for the lack of diversity and it is impossible to force such diversity to happen overnight.

This, by no means, an attempt to promote positive discrimination in order to improve the situation – which has actually been suggested as a strategy by Police Minister Damian Green to remedy the unrepresentative percentages in the police force (27.3% of police offices being female and 5% being from an ethnic minority) – such a consideration would undermine both the ideals of meritocracy and the genuine skill that the current members of the judiciary hold.

But when “an analysis of almost 13,000 case files found that the CPS was more likely to object to bail for male African Caribbeans (13.2%), compared with white men (9%)” then there is a genuine concern in the public over equal treatment; and this concern would likely see improvement if the judiciary that attempts to enforces such equality was more representative.

It is unclear whether there is a direct link with the enforcement of justice and the diversity of the judiciary, but what is and has always been clear, is that to not have (or not attempt to develop) a diverse and representative judiciary not only undermines public confidence, but undermines the equal justice that is being enforced. It is logically and obviously a constitutional issue when the public are not represented by the judicial bodies that are meant to assist them.

Pushing Their Luck? UK Counter-Terrorism Powers and David Miranda

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26 February, 2014
Civil Liberties, Colin Murray, Human Rights Law
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David Miranda

– Colin Murray (Senior Lecturer, Newcastle Law School) colin.murray@newcastle.ac.uk

This post was first published on Human Rights in Ireland

Stop and Search certainly was the hot human rights news story of last summer within the UK. Schedule 7 powers under the Terrorism Act 2000 allow for extended powers to stop and search, and even detain for up to nine hours individuals in the context of ports and airports, for the purpose of assessing whether they are linked to terrorism. That police powers should be extensive in this context might be thought relatively uncontroversial. After all, the potential to trap hostages in such a confined space was attractive to terrorist groups long before the 9/11 attacks displayed the potential of using civilian airliners as weapons.

The problem, as so often is when counter-terrorism is at issue, is that when such exorbitant powers are assumed, legal systems can find it very difficult to constrain their abuse. The problem really comes to the fore when, as David Anderson QC, the UK’s independent reviewer of counter-terrorism powers, told Parliament on 12 November, criticism of the security services within the UK is often muted, partly because of national pride in their activities (dating from the work of the code breakers at Bletchley Park during the Second World War) and partly as a result of the 007 brand’s ongoing appeal.

This situation produces one key question. In rather feverish context of the security debate, and with a seemingly in-built national deference to the activities of the security services, what is to stop police and security officials from abusing extended stop and search powers? For over a decade the airport powers attracted little attention. This is especially the case when their operation is compared to the furore which surrounded the day-to-day use of extended counter-terrorism stop-and-search powers on the UK’s streets, which ultimately led to the European Court of Human Rights finding a breach of Article 8 ECHR. The police seem to have appreciated, as Joshua Rosenberg picked up from Anderson’s reports on the use of Schedule 7, that the power was not simply valuable, but that “like all valuable things, it needs careful handling”.

The powers suddenly became an issue of national importance with the detention for nine hours at Heathrow of David Miranda (pictured above), partner of US journalist Glenn Greenwald. The police were investigating whether Miranda had in his possession US national security documents received from the NSA whistleblower Edward Snowden. Embarrassing for a key ally perhaps, but where is the basis for using counter-terrorism powers, Greenwald and his supporters asserted? Miranda was not a member of any banned terrorist group. For the police, however, the link between these security-related documents and counter-terrorism powers was indirect, based upon the damage that the release of these documents could do to counter-terrorism operations. This attempt to link his case to terrorism has been likened to a “conjuror’s trick” by barrister and blogger Adam Wagner.

Yesterday the High Court ruled that a challenge to the legitimacy of this exercise of the power and to the compatibility of the power generally with the freedom of expression under Article 10 ECHR could not succeed. First off, Lord Justice Laws (giving the lead judgment) quickly dismissed the contention that the power had been used for an improper purpose, ie, that the examining police officers’ purpose in stopping Miranda was out with the scope of a counter-terrorism power. Laws LJ summed up the purpose of the Detective Superintendent involved stopping Miranda (at [24]): “given the connection with Mr Snowden and the latter’s movements, that the claimant might have been concerned in acts falling within the definition of terrorism in s.1 of the 2000 Act which might be carried out by Russia and designed to influence the British government”.

The key factor is that the court accepted that the definition of terrorism under section 1 of the Terrorism Act 2000 was broad enough to provide a basis for this arrest, notwithstanding that Miranda himself could not be described as a “suspected terrorist” (at [29]):

[T]he bare proposition that the definition of terrorism in s.1 is very wide or far reaching does not of itself instruct us very deeply in the proper use of Schedule 7. … S.1(2) is concerned only to define the categories of “action” whose use or threat may constitute terrorism: not to impose any accompanying mental element. Similarly, the expression “concerned in” in s.40(1)(b) is not to be taken to import the criteria for guilt as a secondary party which the criminal law requires in a case of joint enterprise.

As long as Miranda was linked to Snowden, who was intent on publishing materials which would influence government policy and could endanger the lives of UK agents, this was sufficient for the court to find that the purpose was proper (at [32]):

Putting all these features together, it appears to me that the Schedule 7 power is given in order to provide a reasonable but limited opportunity for the ascertainment of a possibility: the possibility that a traveller at a port may be involved (“concerned” – s.40(1)(b)), directly or indirectly, in any of a range of activities enumerated in s.1(2). If the possibility is established, the statute prescribes no particular consequence. What happens will depend, plainly, on the outcome of the Schedule 7 examination including any searches where those have been carried out. There may be a prosecution for an offence under the Act, or indeed some other offence; materials in the subject’s possession may be retained if the general law allows it; the subject may be released with no further action.

In terms of whether the stop was proportionate, in light of Miranda’s involvement in journalistic endeavour, drew Laws LJ into a detailed consideration of the freedom of the press in general. Whilst he appreciated that importance of the public interest in a free press, the proportionality of any interference had to be judged in light of other public interests, such as national security (at [46]):

[There is] an important difference between the general justification of free expression and the particular justification of its sub-class, journalistic expression. The former is a right which belongs to every individual for his own sake. But the latter is given to serve the public at large; … It follows that so far as Mr Ryder claims a heightened protection for his client (or the material his client was carrying) on account of his association with the journalist Mr Greenwald … [t]he contrast is not between private right and public interest. The journalist enjoys no heightened protection for his own sake, but only for the sake of his readers or his audience. If there is a balance to be struck, it is between two aspects of the public interest.

Whilst he was not willing to give carte blanche to a public official’s assertions of security concerns (see [57]), Laws LJ was clear that valid security concerns had been made out in this case, and that he would not substitute a journalists view of these questions for those of government (at [71]):

Journalists have no … constitutional responsibility. They have, of course, a professional responsibility to take care so far as they are able to see that the public interest, including the security of the State and the lives of other people, is not endangered by what they publish. But that is not an adequate safeguard for lives and security, because of the “jigsaw” quality of intelligence information, and because the journalist will have his own take or focus on what serves the public interest, for which he is not answerable to the public through Parliament. The constitutional responsibility for the protection of national security lies with elected government …

Wrapping up, Laws LJ concludes that the powers (limited to a ports and airports context) are hedged by adequate safeguards. For all that complaints have already begun regarding the level of respect accorded to elected decision makers in the security context, it seems that the strongest ground for appeal is this briefly addressed issue of safeguards. After all, it was the basis on which the general no-suspicion stop-and-search power was subject to major reform in the Protection of Freedoms Act 2012, and is already under fresh review by David Anderson QC. This legal battle may be lost, the war over counter-terrorism powers looks set to rage on.

Lessons from the Lex Gabinia

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20 February, 2014
Administrative Law, Civil Liberties, Constitutional Law, Harry Perrin, Human Rights Law
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‘Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus’ (‘Pompey’ or ‘Pompey the Great’)

– Harry Perrin (Independent Scholar and Trainee Solicitor)

It wasn’t all yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum for the Ancient Romans when it came to pirates. By the fourth decade of the first century BC, Plutarch tells us, the pirates were so prevalent in the Mediterranean that ‘all navigation and all commerce were at a standstill’ causing resource shortages and volatile food prices. ‘Roman supremacy’, Plutarch continues, was ‘brought into contempt’ not only by the pirates’ ‘seizures of high ranking officials, and the ransoms which they demanded for captured cities’, but by ‘their flute-playing, their stringed instruments, their drunken revels along every coast.’ Evil crimes indeed.

The way in which the Romans dealt with the problem tends to spring to my mind whenever our country today is faced with situations billed as ‘emergencies’ or ‘extraordinary’.

The constitution of the Roman Republic in the first century BC was designed so that no one person could amass too much power over too prolonged a period: ‘an elaborate set of precautions against the accumulation of executive power in a single person’, notes Eric Posner, ‘to prevent the recurrence of monarchy’. There were two heads of state, the consuls, who held office for one year. The post which a consul would typically hold afterwards, the proconsulship – governing a foreign province in the Roman territories – was also limited in term to one year to prevent an already powerful individual accruing too much military might away from the watchful eyes of Rome.

If you are a fan of irony, you may already have spotted that from this Republic’s careful constitution sprang one of the most powerful empires we have known. Note also that Sulla, a constitutional reformer who tightened many checks and balances in 81BC (including limiting the proconsulship to one year), did so when he himself was holding dictatorial power on the basis of an emergency; and note the lex Gabinia.

One hundred and twenty thousand infantrymen, five thousand cavalrymen, five hundred ships, and the right to appoint twenty four powerful lieutenants, were among the resources allotted to Pompey by Gabinius’ law, passed in 67 BC, to combat piracy in the Med. In terms of territorial command, Plutarch notes that Pompey’s power over the sea and mainland areas up to fifty miles inland meant that ‘there were not many places in the Roman world which were not included.’ He had not only ‘the supreme naval command but what amounted in fact to an absolute authority and uncontrolled power over everyone.’ So much for the elaborate system of checks and balances.

Unsurprisingly with these resources Pompey dealt with the problem with incredible speed. Food prices dropped as soon as the lex Gabinia was passed and piracy was quashed within three months.

But Pompey did not surrender his power. Another ‘extraordinary situation’ justified Pompey not only keeping his naval command and resources, but being allotted further power over the Roman territory in the East, including the military forces already stationed there, then under the command of his colleagues Lucullus and Glabrio. The lex Manilia was passed to this effect in 66BC. The justification: war in the East, against Mithridates and Tigranes.

It is easy to turn history into linear narratives and morality tales with the benefit of hindsight, and history’s headlines should be questioned and re-questioned for accuracy and fairness. The headline point here is that the excessive accrual of power by Pompey clashed with the excessive accrual of power by Julius Caesar. Caesar crossed the Rubicon, said ‘the die is cast’; civil war, birth of the empire and the rest, as they say, is ancient history.

Headlines are memorable though, and I do remember the lex Gabinia whenever ‘emergency measures’ are proposed today. Take the detention of terror suspects. Until January 2011, the state could detain those suspected of terrorism-related offences, without charge, potentially without even telling them the reason for their detention, for up to 28 days. Unsuccessful proposals went before Parliament to raise this to ninety and then forty two days. The justification for prolonged detention without charge was that the country was in an extraordinary situation, and emergency measures were appropriate.

And were the laws put back to normal once the emergency had passed; once the pirates had been defeated, as it were? The detention-without-charge period was restored to fourteen days, but, as human rights group Liberty points out, this is still high compared with the USA (two days), Italy (four days), Canada (one day) and Ireland (seven days). Many would argue that the danger still exists here, that the pirates have not been conquered. This may or may not be so, but when a so-called extraordinary situation prevails for so long, it becomes the norm – it becomes ordinary – and we should discount any arguments based on the need to deal with an emergency in our assessment of whether laws in question are proportionate.

And take the trials following the summer 2011 riots, where courts sat throughout the night. Keir Starmer, Director of Public Prosecutions at the time, has praised the role of this swift administration of justice in curbing the disorder. Sentences for crimes committed during the riots were on average 4.5 times longer than those for similar offences in the previous year. This is not problematic per se, provided that due process was followed: judges can take account of the context of crimes when sentencing.

More of a concern is that due process was not followed. Solicitors who acted for defendants in the riot trials have voiced concerns, noting knee jerk reactions from judges, ‘conveyor-belt justice’, and a failure to distinguish between ringleaders and followers. A magistrate stated that the usual sentencing rulebook for children with no previous convictions had been ‘torn up and thrown away’.

The justification for the all-night courts was that the emergency in which the country found itself in August 2011 required an extraordinary response. This may well hold water. My concern though, and that of the defence lawyers cited above, is that these measures may have been disproportionate to the extent that they unjustifiably interfered with the defendants’ right to a fair trial.

I acknowledge that had the judiciary and the government failed to deal adequately with the riots, the consequences would have been dire – even more so than they were, and that all-night courts may well have been the best option. And the lex Gabinia may have been the right way of dealing with the pirates. Pompey succeeded where no other commander did. It is easy to point at it now as the beginning of the end of the Roman Republic, but if the pirates had prevailed, we might all be playing flutes and speaking pirate now. Aargh!

I have never been suspected of terrorism or rioting, or even piracy (though I have once exhibited drunken behaviour in a Mediterranean coastal-town). I do however urge the conscientious citizen to assess any proposals which have the potential to infringe on our rights or constitution and to bear in mind the lex Gabinia. Ask the following, because these issues matter to all of us:

  1. Is the measure proposed proportionate to the issue it is proposed to deal with?
  2. Are the reasons for justifying the measure sufficiently closely related to the measure, and if any of these reasons fall away (‘emergency measures’ when the emergency has ceased) is the measure still justified?
  3. Has consideration of the proposed measure been properly weighed up against a consideration of its effects on the constitution and on our rights?

There we have it: the ‘caveat Gabinia’. I have just coined a phrase. Latin scholars correct my grammar before it catches on.

Tom Watson’s Triumph? UK Communications Interception, Drone Strikes and the European Convention on Human Rights

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13 February, 2014
Colin Murray, Human Rights Law
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Untitled

Tom Watson MP (Picture Credit: The Telegraph)

– Colin Murray (Senior Lecturer, Newcastle Law School) colin.murray@newcastle.ac.uk

This post was first published on Human Rights in Ireland

Last week Tom Watson MP (pictured left), chair of the All-Party Parliamentary Group on Drones (APPG), launched a new front in the work of the Group (founded back in 2012). As a parliamentarian with an uncanny ability to spot human rights issues likely to make the headlines and which will hold extended media attention, the subject of drones (both in terms of the UK’s operation of them and its cooperation with the US) was always likely to grab Watson’s attention. But the reason Watson is so high-profile in his myriad pursuits, from trying to bounce Tony Blair into resigning, to vanquishing Rupert Murdock to needling the Government on its drone policy, is his grasp of the role of a backbench MP.

His impact as a minister may have been limited, and his spell as Deputy Chair of the Labour Party might have ended ignominiously last summer, but as a backbench parliamentarian he has few equals. He knows how to use the power of select committees, castigating Rupert Murdock as a “mafia boss” when the latter appeared before the Culture, Media and Sport Committee. Alongside this grand standing comes the meticulous use of an MP’s privilege to question ministers. The House of Commons’ Questions Book overflows with queries over the minutiae of UK drone policy, systematic probing which aims to build up a picture of UK operations and to identify weaknesses in the Government’s legal and policy justifications. He is also a master of the Trojan-horse question, keeping the issue of drones alive even in tangentially related debates. A couple of weeks ago, in a debate on redundancies in the UK armed forces, he popped up with the following question:

[W]e have deployed military personnel in a US base in Djibouti. Please will he tell me what their role is? Are they involved in the drones programme in Yemen, and will they be affected by this cuts announcement?

Alas, readers, no substantive answer. For the UK Government is seemingly intent on boring Watson and his tenacious APPG into submission, or at least driving the public to disinterest. Questions on “drone strikes” are met by a blizzard of blandishments and technical-sounding acronyms. The UK doesn’t have drones, it operates UAS (Unmanned Aircraft Systems) or RPAS (Remotely Piloted Aircraft Systems) or UAV (Unmanned Air Vehicles), depending on the minister responding.

But Watson appreciates the limits of a parliamentarian’s reach. The APPG is well-resourced and backed by expert groups outside Parliament (declarations of interest show that the legal NGO Reprieve provides regular funding for a researcher to support its activities). Furthermore, in an effort to deflect the claims of political partisanship that invariably accompany any scrutiny work by MPs, Watson’s APPG has turned to commissioning and publishing legal advice on drones. And not simply on drones. With an eye towards the bigger prize, the legal advice sought by the APPG manages to elide the two most pressing security issues of our times; drones and electronic interceptions by UK spy agencies.

The advice, provided by the highly-respected Jemima Stratford QC and her colleague at Brick Court Chambers Tim Johnson, examines a scenario where the UK intercepts information (whether through the contents of an electronic communication or associated “metadata”), permits the United States to access it, and the United States then employs that information as the basis of a lethal drone strike. The barristers explain in their beginning of their advice (at [5]), ‘the authorities must establish that every step in the chain is lawful if they are to be permitted to carry on with these activities’, before making out what seems like a compelling case on which grounds UK law may fall foul of the requirements of Article 8 of the ECHR (the right to private and family life).

Their analysis is at its strongest when it comes to their discussion of various rouses which may be used by GCHQ to enable “mass” interception (ie, interception not permitted by a specific warrant) of contents of electronic communications within the UK (for example, by arguing that it is routed through a US-based internet server). Such efforts to circumvent the legal regime for intelligence gathering under the Regulation of Investigatory Powers Act 2000 are a key plank of the allegations made by Edward Snowden. And it turns out that with advice in hand focussing on this issue Watson is pushing at an open door. Figures who should know better, like Conservative grandee (and former Foreign Secretary) Sir Malcolm Rifkind, who heads up Parliament’s Intelligence and Security Committee, have in recent weeks spectacularly failed to coherently counter allegations over the legality of UK intelligence gathering. In a Channel 4 News interview Rifkind blustered that his committee’s oversight of Government Communication Headquarters (GCHQ) activities had been entirely appropriate as there was lawful authorisation of these activities under RIPA. This approach abjectly fails to deal with the contention in the Stratford/Johnson advice that it is not the existence but the “quality” of the law which is problematic in granting too broad a power to security agencies (see [35]).

Watson must have been laughing at this point, as the security community has so tied itself up in knots over an intervention before the European Court that Rifkind is reduced to repeatedly saying he thinks that the terms of RIPA are sufficient lawful authority. He would be wise to disappear from our TV screens for a while. All of this looks like pointing towards an easy win in Strasbourg, where Big Brother Watch v United Kingdom is pending before the European Court. High-fives for Watson on the way into Court (with a special degree of kudos for finding a way to hitch his APPG’s work on drones to the challenge to RIPA).

But as I noted last summer, the European Court has rarely challenged Security Service judgements over the requirements of national security and has often given considerable leeway, provided a legal framework is in place, on questions of whether interference with privacy interests are “proportionate” (for the classic example of this case law, see Klass v Germany). The claimants will have to establish that abuse of the RIPA framework has occurred or that the framework itself is inadequate constraint upon state surveillance. Even a “win” on the basis that there are not adequate protections surrounding the harvesting of metadata is unlikely to ultimately prevent the Security Services from undertaking this activity. As the Stratford/Johnson advice notes (at [46]):

RIPA is now 13 years old. As discussed above, the statute draws a sharp distinction between content and communications data. That distinction derives (at least to some extent) from the traditional ‘postal’ distinction between the address on the envelope and its contents. However, the significance of that boundary has been eroded by the realities modern internet usage. Communications data now encompasses each individual URL visited, the contents of an individual’s Twitter and Facebook address lists, messages posted on social media websites and numerous other significant elements of an individual’s online private life. Given modern trends in internet use, the binary distinction between contents and communications data has become increasingly artificial.

Precisely because this material is so useful for the work of security agencies across Europe, the European Court is highly unlikely, even if the current RIPA regime is found to be inadequate, to require specific authorisation for every interception of such information (as is required for the contents of communications). Defeat for the UK Government is likely to be embarrassing (and may require enhanced oversight), but in all likelihood GCHQ will be left with sufficient leeway to continue widespread surveillance of metadata.

As for drones, the supposed focus of the Stratford/Johnson advice hardly gets off the ground before running into the brick wall of the Khan case, where just last month the Court of Appeal emphatically refused to get drawn into passing judgment on the illegality of activities of a foreign state (in this case the US). The advice continues to look at the question based on the issue of data transfer ([85] onwards), but with the courts maintaining this stonewalling approach (effectively saying that claimants should pursue a claim against the US directly), it all begins to sound rather hopeful. So much for Government having to make out every step in the chain to win its case, if the courts will not even grant such claims permission to proceed to full judicial review.

Not that this issue necessarily matters. Fear of adverse judgements in the security sphere can have as salutary an effect on Government policy as joyful scenes of victorious claimants. The UK Government seems particularly defensive on issues of drone policy and intelligence sharing, as Professor Michael Clarke of the defence think-tank RUSI noted late last year:

We share information and it’s very hard to say that it is not used to target individuals. There’s a reasonable presumption that sharing information makes us complicit in the US policy…the UK silence [on the UK’s role in the US drone programme] is deafening.

Watson (with a little help from his legal team) appears to have his foes on the run even when the ground he stands on is weak.