Category Archives: Judicial review

Richard Clayton: The Curious Case of Kennedy v Charity Commission

richard_claytonOn 26 March 2014 the Supreme Court gave a lengthy judgment in Kennedy v Charity Commission [2014] UKSC 20, running to 248 paragraphs. The Supreme Court decision is full of surprises. The Court decided to depart from the arguments of the parties- the majority insisted that common law rights rather than the Human Rights Act were the key to the case; and then embarked on an extended and wide ranging obiter discussion of public law issues, revealing further disagreements between the Justices.

Mr Kennedy, a Times journalist, raised concerns about how George Galloway MP ran his controversial Iraq charity, the Miriam Appeal. He alleged that public donations were used to fund visits by Mr Galloway to Iraq and to support political campaigns against UN sanctions and against Israel. As a result, the Charity Commission which held three inquires under the Charities Act 2006, which dismissed the complaints in very brief terms, leaving unanswered questions which the Supreme Court thought were of considerable public importance.

Mr Kennedy then requested disclosure from the Commission of documents which might explain the inquiries’ conclusions under the Freedom of Information Act (FOIA). He accepted that some information might attract absolute exemption from disclosure under FOIA (such as confidential information under s 41) and that other parts came within the scope of qualified exemptions and therefore required weighing up rival public interests under s 2(2).

However, the Commission said that all the documents were subject to an absolute exemption under s 32, on the basis that s 32 exempts the Commission from any duty to disclose documents held by a Court or persons conducting an inquiry or arbitration.   Mr Kennedy responded by arguing that the absolute exemption under s 32(2) fell away once the inquiry concluded, either as a matter of ordinary construction or by interpreting s 32 in accordance with s 3 of the Human Rights Act. The protracted litigation began with a FOIA request in June 2007, followed by a detailed consideration by the Information Commissioner, two hearings before the First Tier Tribunal, a High Court hearing and two hearings before the Court of Appeal, which Mr Kennedy appealed to the Supreme Court.

The issues before the Supreme Court

The principal issues before the Supreme Court were whether the absolute exemption ended with the inquiry’s conclusion, either as a matter of ordinary construction or under the extended meaning permitted by s 3 of the HRA. The Supreme Court had little difficulty in deciding against Mr Kennedy that the absolute exemption under s 32 continued after the inquiries ended. The principal battleground therefore focused on the scope of Art 10.

The Art 10 issue

Unfortunately, the Strasbourg jurisprudence on whether freedom of expression entails a right of access to information is not entirely straightforward. In the older cases (which include Grand Chamber decisions), Leander v Sweden (1987) 9 EHRR 433, Gaskin v UK (1989) 12 EHRR 36, Guerra v Italy (1998) 26 EHRR 357 and Roche v UK (32555/96) (2005) 42 EHRR 30, the ECtHR deny that a right of access to information falls within the scope of Art 10. However, a series of later cases, Matky v Czech Republic Judgment 10 July 2006, Tarsasag v Hungary (2011) 53 EHRR 3 and Kenedi v Hungary (31475/05) (2009) 27 BHRC 335 say what Article 10 conferred a right of access to information, at any rate for those who exercise of the functions of a social watchdog, like the press.

Lord Judge CJ in Independent News and Media [2010] 1 WLR 2262 [41]observed that the Strasbourg jurisprudence appeared to have developed a wider scope since Leander. But when the point was argued before the Supreme Court in Sugar v BBC [2012] 1 WLR 439, Lord Brown disagreed, holding in trenchant terms [88-96] that Art 10 creates no general right to freedom of information. Lords Mance and Wilson agreed with his analysis.

Since Sugar there have been four more ECtHR cases indicating that Art 10 confers a right of access to information: the Grand Chamber decision in Gillberg v Sweden (2012) 34 BHRC 247, Shapovalov v Ukraine, Judgment 32 July 2012, Youth Initiative for Human Rights v Serbia Judgment, June 25, 2013 and Österreichische v Austria, Judgment, 28 November 2013 (which was in fact given after the oral argument).

Mr Kennedy asked the Supreme Court to overrule Sugar before a seven judge court. Lord Mance, in giving the leading judgment (with which Lords Neuberger, Clarke and Sumption agreed) scrutinised the four new Strasbourg decisions [76-96]. He concluded, on the unsatisfactory state of the case law, that Art 10 did not confer a positive right of access to information [94]. He also said [59] that it was unfortunate that the ECtHR chambers did not refer cases to the Grand Chamber where it disagreed with older Grand Chamber judgments.

Lord Mance’s approach is open to question on several grounds. His views appear to be out of line with current Strasbourg practice concerning referrals to the Grand Chamber, fail to acknowledge the dynamic interpretative techniques it uses when considering the scope of Convention rights (which Lord Wilson stressed in his dissenting judgment at [188]) and seem to imply that Strasbourg applies a system of precedent- which it does not.

One critical question the Supreme Court had to consider is how the ECtHR would, itself, decide the Art 10 issue. The reality is that the direction of travel is all one way- every recent ECtHR decision has said that Art 10 confers a right of access to information. Lord Wilson in his dissent stated that the Supreme Court could ‘confidently conclude’ that Art 10 required an unwilling public authority to disclose information [189], whereas Lord Carnwath held in his dissenting judgment [217] that the general direction of travel (unless the Grand Chamber ruled otherwise) was clear. In R(Gentle) v Prime Minister [2008] 1 AC 1356 Lady Hale indicated [56-57] that she considered the Strasbourg jurisprudence, she would be guided by what she could reasonably foresee what the ECtHR would decide; and in Ambrose v Harris [2011] 1 WLR 2435 Lord Dyson looked for a ‘sufficient indication’ of how the ECtHR would decide the case. It is respectfully submitted that the conclusion of the majority on the scope of Art 10 is, therefore, unconvincing

The common law alternative

Another curious feature of the decision is how the majority seized on a reference in the Commission’s printed case to s 78 of FOIA- which states that nothing in the Act ‘is to be taken to limit the powers of a public authority to disclose information held by it’. Section 78 was mentioned by the Commission for the limited purpose of arguing that its refusal to disclose was not an ‘interference’ with Art 8. However, the majority used s 78 as a launch pad to discuss obiter extending the common law principles of open justice, as developed by R(Guardian Newspapers) v City of Westminster Magistrates’ Court [2013] QB 618, where the Court of Appeal held that the magistrates acted unlawfully in refusing to disclose the skeleton arguments, witness statements and other documents.

The majority’s extension of the Guardian News principle presented a number of difficult issues (which were not raised before the parties). Lord Mance [48-50] appeared to regard this development as a modest one, taking the view that, having regard to the terms of the Charity Act, the Commission should accede to Mr Kennedy’s request for disclosure in the public interest- unless there were powerful countervailing arguments to be advanced: see, also Lord Toulson at [124-129]. By contrast, Lord Carnwath was sceptical about such a broad proposition [236-242], pointing to a basic fallacy, that statutory tribunals did not sit in public, so that the cornerstone principle of Guardian News was absent. In Lord Carnwath’s view the alternative common law approach was, ‘arguably, a bolder leap into the unknown than the modest step’ the Supreme Court was being asked to take (after full argument) in relation Art 10.

The Supreme Court also disagreed about the standard to be applied when assessing whether the principle of open justice was overridden by countervailing factors. Lord Mance stated [52-54]- that the Wednesbury standard had developed an issue-sensitive scale of intervention to enable the Courts to perform their constitutional function in an increasing polity and concluded that the proportionality test is relevant to judicial review outside the scope of Convention and EU law, apparently performing the burial rights to the Wednesday principle which Dyson LJ foreshadowed in [34-37] in R(ABCIFER v Secretary of State for Defence [2003] QB 1397. Lord Carnwath was much more cautious [246], pointing out that the jurisprudential basis for this flexible approach remains uncertain and that it was, at best, uncertain whether proportionality had become part of domestic public law.

Another curiosity in the judgment concerns how Mr Kennedy can now take his case forward. Lord Sumption emphasised [159] that a fresh request based on common law grounds would not necessarily result in a favourable outcome. Furthermore, if Mr Kennedy tried to judicially review a refusal to provide the documents requested, those new proceedings might be time-barred under CPR 54.5(1) since the ground of challenge arose so long ago. Lord Toulson suggested [151] that it would be harsh for the claim to be treated as time barred under CPR 54.5(1) because of the legal uncertainty concerning the correct route he should take. However, it is far from clear whether legal uncertainty in these circumstances will constitute a ‘good reason’ for extending time under the Civil Procedure Rules: so that any future judicial review case will fall at the first hurdle. Assuming the Administrative Court reached the stage of deciding the case on common law grounds, it is equally uncertain whether Mr Kennedy will prevail.

The upshot is Mr Kennedy may yet find that he will need to obtain a ruling from the ECtHR concerning whether Art 10 entails a right of access to information- sooner that the Supreme Court appear to have assumed.

Richard Clayton QC practises from 4-5 Grays’ Inn Square and Kings Chambers, Birmingham and is an Associate Fellow at the Centre for Public Law, Cambridge University. He represented an intervener in Kennedy.

(Suggested citation: R. Clayton, ‘The Curious Case of Kennedy v Charity Commission’ U.K. Const. L. Blog  (18th April 2014) (available at:  http://ukconstitutionallaw.org/)).

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Jacob Rowbottom: McCutcheon and the US campaign finance laws: Responsiveness to money or people?

jacob-rowbottom-photoThe decision of the US Supreme Court in McCutcheon v Federal Election Commission represents another judicial gutting of American campaign finance laws. Following Citizens Unitedv Federal Election Commission (2010), the ruling makes another inroad into the law, with a 5-4 majority by finding a cap on the aggregate level of political donations to violate the First Amendment. The decision is of interest to those of us outside the US in highlighting different views about the role of free speech in the political system and the threats that money can pose to the integrity of that system.

Under American law, the amount that any person can donate to a candidate is capped at $2,600 per election (which means a maximum of $5,200 per candidate that is standing in a primary and general election). That limit remains in place. The decision concerned a law that capped the aggregate amount a person can contribute to multiple federal candidates at $48,000 and to other campaigning organisations (such as political action committees and party committees) at $74,600. This meant that individuals could donate a maximum of $123,200 to candidates and other campaign groups.

In the plurality opinion given by Chief Justice Roberts, the aggregate limits were found to violate the First Amendment. Part of his reasoning turned on the definition of corruption. In the case of Buckley v Valeo (1976), the Supreme Court had famously ruled that campaign finance laws cannot restrict speech rights in order to promote equal opportunities to influence elections. The definition of corruption in the US therefore became a high stakes question – if a broad definition is taken, then a wider range of campaign regulations can be justified.

The different views of corruption can be seen in the plurality and dissenting opinions. Justice Roberts followed a narrow view, which had been mentioned in Citizens United, which viewed corruption primarily as about quid pro quos and the appearance of such deals. By contrast, he thought corruption does not extend to ‘mere influence or access’ secured by large donations. Taking this position, Roberts argued that donating money is an important form of political participation, which ensures politicians remain responsive to the public. At the end of the opinion, he stressed this point after quoting Edmund Burke:

 

‘Constituents have the right to support candidates who share their views and concerns. Representatives are not to follow constituent orders, but can be expected to be cognizant of and responsive to those concerns. Such responsiveness is key to the very concept of self-governance through elected officials.’

On this view, representatives should listen to those that have expressed their support through a donation, just as he or she would listen to and meet volunteers on a campaign. Roberts reasoning seems to compare donations to other forms of participation that the First Amendment protects – though he does not challenge the distinction between contributions and expenditures drawn in Buckley v Valeo, and does not require a strict scrutiny standard for contributions controls (on which see the opinion of Justice Thomas). Roberts did not have to determine the standard of review for his conclusion, but the logic of the reasoning and emphasis on donations as participation suggests the issue may be revisited in the future. While the government has an interest in preventing corruption, Roberts argued that this should not be defined so broadly as to compromise this type of responsiveness.

In the dissenting opinion, Justice Breyer also stressed the role of political communications to make elected representatives responsive to the people. This, he argued, is the central reason why the First Amendment protects expression:

‘the First Amendment advances not only the individual’s right to engage in political speech, but also the public’s interest in preserving a democratic order in which collective speech matters.’

Corruption, he argued, breaks this ‘chain of communication’ as elected representatives are diverted from considering the views of the people. The prevention of corruption is, therefore, not simply another countervailing factor to be weighed up against speech rights, but is ‘rooted in the First Amendment’. Unlike Roberts, Breyer thought the concern with responsiveness requires a view of corruption beyond quid pro quos. Even if no backroom deals are made, large donations can undermine this responsiveness if they ‘drown out the voices of the many’. In taking this view, Breyer treats donations as distinct from other types of participation. A representative should be responsive to the views of the people, and not direct their attention to those with the most economic resources.

Both Breyer and Roberts used the language of responsiveness, but they hold very different views about the role of political donations in the system. For Roberts, the election finance laws are the threat to responsiveness, while for Breyer it is the presence of big political spenders. Of the two, I find Breyer most convincing. Giving access and influence to donors is not simply a matter of showing gratitude to supporters – it allows the well resourced to buy themselves a seat at the table and secure a politician’s ear. The potential for corruption can occur in more subtle ways than direct deals. There is no reason to risk these more subtle types of threat to protect a form of participation that is available only to the very wealthy. Ultimately, what should politicians be responsive to: people or dollars?

Aside from this issue, the other major area of disagreement was whether the aggregate limits were necessary to prevent corruption even in the narrow sense – for example, can large donations to party committees generate a danger of a quid pro quo, and can large aggregate donations provide a loophole to circumvent the low contribution limits to individual candidates. In defending their positions, both the plurality and dissenters considered a number of complex arrangements that could be used to channel donations to an individual candidate in a system without aggregate limits. Roberts found the aggregate limit was not necessary and that other rules are effective in preventing circumvention. The dissenters took a more skeptical view of such controls. Again, I found Breyer to be more persuasive. The experience of campaign finance laws shows that loopholes are fully exploited, and there is no reason to expect any exception here.

What should we make of this decision in the UK? It underlines the radical difference in the free speech jurisprudence over the Atlantic. As I have shown earlier on this blog, the Article 10 ECHR jurisprudence accepts that expression can be restricted to promote equality of opportunity in political communication and prevent distortion, as well as to deal with corruption. The fierce debate about the rationale and the definition of corruption is therefore sidestepped under the ECHR, which is more permissive in relation to campaign finance. The case also underlines the different system of election regulation in the two countries. In the UK, there is not even a base limit on donations to candidates or parties, so the question of aggregate limits does not arise. While the US judges discussed the fear of very large donations going to candidates, that is has always been permissible in the UK.

Will this decision unleash even more money into future US elections? As many commentators have noted, there has been no shortage of funds in recent campaigns. Instead, some have wondered whether this decision means that more of the money will now flow to parties, rather than unregulated independent organisations. It is hard to know whether it will have such an effect. One certain effect of the decision is that it makes regulating money in American politics harder than ever. The question is which remaining parts of the system will be next to come under the Court’s scrutiny? One leading scholar believes that McCutcheon paves the way for a challenge to the controls on soft money contributions. Unless there is a fairly dramatic change to the composition of the court, more inroads into the law seem likely.

 

Jacob Rowbottom is a Fellow of University College and Associate Professor at the Faculty of Law, University of Oxford.  He is the author of Democracy Distorted (CUP 2010).

Suggested citation: J. Rowbottom, ‘McCutcheon  and the US Campaign Finance Laws: Responsiveness to Money or People?’ U.K. Const. L. Blog (9th April 2014) (available at  http://ukconstitutionallaw.org/).

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Robert Leckey: Constitutionalizing Canada’s Supreme Court

Professor Robert Leckey CROSS-POSTED FROM THE I.CONNect BLOG.

A dispute over the legality of a politically questionable judicial appointment has resulted in what pundits call a stinging defeat for Canada’s prime minister and a bold assertion by the Supreme Court of Canada of its independence and constitutional status.

Recently, in Reference re Supreme Court Act, ss. 5 and 6, 2014 SCC 21, the Court advised that Conservative Prime Minister Stephen Harper’s appointment of the Honourable Mr. Justice Marc Nadon to the Supreme Court of Canada was void. He had been sworn in five months earlier. On a six-judge majority’s reading of the Supreme Court Act, Justice Nadon was unqualified to fill one of three spots reserved for jurists trained in the law of Quebec. Quebec is the federation’s sole civil-law jurisdiction and the only province with a French-speaking majority.

In addition, the Court opined that the Parliament of Canada’s ex post amendments to the Supreme Court Act purporting to clarify that Justice Nadon was eligible were unconstitutional. They amounted to a constitutional amendment requiring the unanimous consent of Parliament and all provinces.

While many had criticized the political wisdom of the prime minister’s selection of a semi-retired judge on nobody’s shortlist, the constitutional issues turn on the interpretation of the Supreme Court Act and of the country’s constitutional amending formula.

General qualifications for appointment appear in section 5 of the Supreme Court Act. It refers to current and former judges and to a person who “is or has been” a lawyer of at least ten years standing at the bar of a province. The controversy bore on section 6’s specification that three justices be drawn “from among the judges of the Court of Appeal or of the Superior Court of the Province of Quebec or from among the advocates of that Province.” Justice Nadon came instead from the Federal Court of Appeal. Although formerly a member of the Quebec Bar for more than ten years, he was no longer a member. Using a process set out in the Supreme Court Act, the federal executive referred questions to the Court for its opinion.

The validity of the initial selection of Justice Nadon turned on the relationship between the Act’s general and specific provisions and the significance, if any, of the different wording in sections 5 and 6 (“is or has been,” “among”). The majority of the Court concluded that Quebec appointments needed to be current judges of the named Quebec courts or current members of the Quebec Bar. Those judges stated the primary basis for their decision to be the Act’s plain meaning and the differences in wording. A single judge dissented.

It is striking for an apex court—even when the government asks it to weigh in—to reject an appointment to its ranks on the basis that the government had misinterpreted the relevant statute. But the Court went further. It grounded a formalistic exercise of statutory interpretation turning on the niceties of “is or has been” versus “among” in the historic compromise guaranteeing one-third of the Court’s judges to Quebec. For the majority justices, their interpretation of section 6 advanced the “dual purpose of ensuring that the Court has civil law expertise and that Quebec’s legal traditions and social values are represented on the Court,” maintaining that province’s “confidence” in the Court (para. 18).

Exaggerating the opinion’s political salience would be difficult. At a moment when Quebec is governed by a separatist party, and less than three weeks before Quebecers vote in a provincial general election, the Supreme Court of Canada explicitly declared itself to be an institution that guarantees a voice for Quebec’s “social values” in federal institutions. Commentators read the entire judgment as a declaration of the Court’s independence from a prime minister and executive perceived as disdainful towards democratic institutions and tone-deaf regarding Quebec. By implication, the majority’s reasoning made the choice of Justice Nadon not only formally invalid, but also substantively disrespectful of Quebec. One can speculate on the depth of the majority’s commitment to this substantive point by asking whether it would have upheld the appointment had the federal government named Justice Nadon to an eligible Quebec court the day before appointing him to the Supreme Court.

The opinion’s most enduring contribution, though, arises from its answer to the question concerning Parliament’s attempt to amend the Supreme Court Act. Parliament had created the Court by statute in 1875. The Court did not replace the Judicial Committee of the Privy Council as the federation’s tribunal of last resort for nearly three-quarters of a century. In its final legislative exercise for Canada, the Parliament of the United Kingdom brought into life the Constitution Act, 1982. The latter lists instruments that the Constitution of Canada includes, but does not mention the Supreme Court Act. Nevertheless, the new constitutional amending formula refers twice to the Supreme Court. The Court appears among the “matters” amendable by Parliament with the consent of a majority of provinces. Its “composition” figures among the “matters” amendable only on unanimous consent of Parliament and the provinces.

In opining that Parliament’s attempt to modify the Supreme Court Act to clear the way for Justice Nadon was unconstitutional, the majority stated that reference to the Court’s “composition” in the amending formula constitutionalized sections 5 and 6 of the Act. By implication, it also constitutionalized the Court’s continuing existence, “since abolition would altogether remove the Court’s composition” (para. 91). The majority added that the more general reference to the Court constitutionalized its “essential features … understood in light of the role that it had come to play in the Canadian constitutional structure by the time of patriation” (para. 94). In effect, the amending formula drastically reduced the scope for change to the Supreme Court by ordinary federal statute.

Moreover, the Court confirmed that the sources of the Constitution of Canada now include not only the previously known hodge-podge of royal proclamations, imperial statutes and orders in council, federal statutes, and unwritten principles. Those sources also include parts of another federal statute, the Supreme Court Act—some provisions identified by number as well as whatever might in future be determined to embody the Court’s “essential features.” Indeed, by referring to the “role” that the Court has come to play, the majority judges hint that the Court’s constitutionalized features may not track directly to specifiable legislative provisions, instead arising from practice. Presumably the same applies to other institutions that the amending formula constitutionalized, such as the Senate of Canada, on which the Court will pronounce in due course.

Whatever the political fallout for the prime minister, the Court’s advisory opinion merits careful attention by those who study sources of constitutional law, amending formulae, and how institutions’ constitutional status may change over time.

Robert Leckey is an Associate Professor of Law and William Dawson Scholar at the Faculty of Law, McGill University. He is scheduled to speak in the United Kingdom and South Africa about his forthcoming book Bills of Rights in the Common Law on the following dates in 2014: King’s College London – 12 May; Oxford University – 13 May; Unisa, Pretoria – 15 May; Cape Town – 19 May; University College London – 17 June; London School of Economics – 29 October. Further details for these talks may be obtained from the venues hosting the talks.

(Suggested Citation: Robert Leckey, Constitutionalizing Canada’s Supreme Court, Int’l J. Const. L. Blog, Mar. 25, 2014, available at: http://www.iconnectblog.com/2014/03/constitutionalizing-canadas-supreme-court  or R. Leckey, ‘Constitutionalizing Canada’s Supreme Court’ U.K. Const. L. Blog (1 April 2014) (available at http://ukconstitutionallaw.org/)).

 

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Alexander Horne: Is there a case for greater legislative involvement in the judicial appointments process?

Alexander HorneThe dramatic increase in public law and human rights cases coming before the UK Supreme Court (and the Appellate Committee before it) means that the UK’s top court is more frequently determining essentially socio-political questions. In addition, in recent years, the judiciary has pressed for a rather more expansive definition of judicial independence, with a greater emphasis on the institutional independence of the judiciary. This has tended to lead to more powerful leadership roles, for senior judges in particular.

These changes, coupled with a greater focus – by both the judiciary and the executive – on the doctrine of the separation of powers, has resultedin judges taking responsibility for matters which, prior to theConstitutional Reform Act 2005, would most likely have been left to the Lord Chancellor (and his former Department). In the light of this expanding judicial role, now seems an appropriate time to question whether any new mechanisms for increasing political accountability, such as a parliamentary confirmation procedure, are needed for appointment to the most senior judicial offices (including, but perhaps not limited to, the UK Supreme Court, given the growing managerial roles played by the Lord Chief Justice and Heads of Division).

Confirmation processes are often dismissed out of hand – frequently with negative references to the partisan approach seen in the United States of America. Lord Neuberger (then Master of the Rolls) captured the common view of hearings before the USSenate Judiciary Committee, when he observed:

“Once you start muddying the water and involving the legislature in the appointment of judges, you risk going down a slippery slope, not quite knowing where it will end. The last thing that we want is the sort of thing you see in the United States. I do not pretend that it happens with every appointment to the Supreme Court but we all remember interviews and proposed appointments that led to something of a jamboree or a circus. I do not think that we want that.” (Evidence to the House of Lords Constitution Committee, November 2011)

 Of courseviews on the US experience do not go entirely one way. Graham Gee has previously considered whether the lessons drawn by UK commentators are necessarily justified; suggesting that most hearings do not generate political conflict and that in any event, “hearings are not the primary source of the politicization of the process” given the important role that partisan considerations play in the President ‘s nominations for the federal bench. Nonetheless, it must be acknowledged that a knee jerk reaction against the US procedure remains commonplace.

Critics of hearings frequently point to the potential impact on judicial independence. In its report on Judicial Appointments, published in March 2012, the House of Lords Constitution Committee summarised many of the oft-heard objections when it concluded that:

“Parliamentarians should not hold pre- or post-appointment hearings of judicial candidates, nor should they sit on selection panels. Political considerations would undoubtedly inform both the selection of parliamentarians to sit on the relevant committees or panels and the choice of questions to be asked.”

In spite of this, issues around judicial independence and accountability are now receiving more interest from academics and some parliamentarians. The question of whether to introduce parliamentary hearings received some attention during the consideration of theconstitutional reformswhich eventually led to the passage of the Constitutional Reform Act 2005. Scholars such as Keith Ewing and Robert Hazell and the former Permanent Secretary of the then Lord Chancellor’s Department, Sir Thomas Legg QC,argued that nominees for the new Supreme Court could be interviewed or confirmed by Parliament. The Study of Parliament Group published The Changing Constitution: A Case for Judicial Confirmation Hearings?, a short report by this author, in 2010.  Areport by Policy Exchange in 2011 suggested that:

“[A] more radical approach to judicial selection should at least be considered – namely legislative oversight of appointments to the Supreme Court. This would have the advantage of ensuring that judges retained their independence, but would be subject to Parliamentary scrutiny prior to their appointment.” (Policy Exchange, Bringing Rights Back Home)

And in 2012, the think-tank CentreForum published a report by Professor Alan Paterson and Chris Paterson, entitled Guarding the Guardians (the title may give some clue as to their conclusions)

The recently concluded project on the Politics of Judicial Independence, involving the Constitution Unit, Queen Mary and the University of Birmingham, is another good example – posing challenging questions about the balance between judicial independence and accountability – asking“who is now accountable for the judiciary, and to whom?” and “what are the proper limits of judicial independence?”.  Views on the subject of confirmation hearings were splitin a seminar on the subject of Judicial Independence, Judicial Accountability and the Separation of Powers, but a number of potential advantages were identified, including the fact that hearings could enhance the legitimacy of judges. Moreover, recent experience of the introduction of hearings in Canada, addressed in a series of articles (e.g. Peter Hogg, Appointment of Justice Marshall Rothstein to the Supreme Court of Canada, (2006) 44 Osgoode Hall Law Journal 527), suggest that one does not have to emulate the contentious US model.

Following in the footsteps of these earlier studies, the Study of Parliament Group has just published a new research paper, by the author of this post, entitled Is there a case for greater legislative involvement in the judicial appointments process?  It seeks to address some of the conceptual arguments for greater political accountability in the appointment process and also considers the expanding ambit of judicial independence. Focusing on whether parliamentarians should have a role in the judicial appointments process, it asks what is meant by political accountability in the context of judicial appointments and considers what evidence there is that greater accountability is necessary.

The paper examines whether new methods of accountability could be introduced in the UK without impacting on judicial independence, and seeks to shed light on these questions by assessing the recent move by the UK Parliament to introduce pre-appointment hearings for other public appointments. Finally, it evaluates whether such processes are readily transferable and, if so, whether UK parliamentary committees are well placed to undertake this task.

The paper concludes that the introduction of pre-appointment hearings for the most senior judicial appointments would have a number of benefits and could help ensure that independent and robust candidates are appointed.  As to the question of politicisation, it considers that as long as there is a continued role for an independent judicial appointments commission to recruit and screen candidates at first instance, any significant politicisation of the process could be avoided.

Whether recent examples of workable models from the UK, or from other jurisdictions, can convince the senior judiciary of the merits of such a change is clearly open to some doubt. But the author hopes that this new work might nonetheless inform any future debate on these issues.

This blog post is published to coincide with the launch of a new Study of Parliament Group Research Paper on Judicial Appointments.

 Alexander Horne is a Barrister (Lincoln’s Inn) and is currently the Legal and Senior Policy Adviser at the House of Commons Scrutiny Unit. The SPG Paper ‘Is there a case for greater legislative involvement in the judicial appointments process?’ is based on an MPhil thesis undertaken part-time at Queen Mary, University of London between 2010-13.  The views expressed are those of the author and should not be taken to reflect the views of any other person or organisation.

(Suggested Citation: A. Horne, ‘Is there a case for greater legislative involvement in the judicial appointments process?’ U.K. Const. L. Blog (27th March 2014) (available at  http://ukconstitutionallaw.org/).

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Scot Peterson: Constitutional Entrenchment in England and the UK

peterson_scotFrequently people think that there are only two ways address flexibility in a constitution: to legally entrench an entire document and to protect it with strong judicial oversight, or to have a political constitution and a sovereign parliament, which, in the words of A.V. Dicey, ‘has … the right to make or unmake any law whatever….’ One aspect of this sovereignty is that parliament cannot bind itself: ‘That Parliaments have more than once intended and endeavoured to pass Acts which should tie the hands of their successors is certain, but the endeavour has always ended in failure.’

Parliament has regularly used language limiting its future options. The Bill of Rights (1688) says that the rights declared there ‘shall be declared, enacted, and established by Authority of this present Parliament, and shall stand, remain, and be the Law of this Realm for ever’. More recently, Parliament promised in the European Union Act 2011 to hold a referendum on any law that increased the competencies of the EU and put in place mechanics for holding itself accountable through judicial review. Are these attempts really as pointless as Dicey claims?

The intention of the convention parliament in 1689 was to put an end to the conflicts of the preceding seventy years (interrupted by the reign of Charles II). The more recent act, too, was a product of what preceded it. Originally the Labour government had ruled out a referendum on the Treaty Establishing a Constitution for Europe (2004), which among other things introduced new shared competencies with member states. When the press speculated about Labour’s prospects before the 2004 European Parliament Elections (June 2004), Tony Blair announced that there would be a referendum on the treaty. After the treaty collapsed (because it was rejected in France and the Netherlands), the member states entered into the Lisbon Treaty, which had many of the same characteristics as the proposed constitution. Conservatives accused Labour of inconsistency in being unwilling to hold a referendum on the Lisbon Treaty, and in their manifesto promised a referendum lock on any future transfers of competencies, so that politicians would not be able to waver for short-term, political purposes. That promise became part of the coalition agreement in 2010 and was enacted into law.

The language used by parliament in both of these cases is a commitment device. It need not even be judicially enforceable to constrain (impose additional costs on) future choices by the legislature. Public embarrassment, through a newspaper’s exposure of inconsistency, is a practical means of ensuring accountability, so long as the newspapers do their job. And, as under the Human Rights Act 1998, the legislature may permit the courts to point out, but not to correct, inconsistency with entrenched law. An overly simplistic distinction between codification and a political constitution eliminates complex differences between these tools, and wastes resources that should be available to policy makers.

Scot Peterson is the Bingham Research Fellow in Constitutional Studies and Junior Research Fellow in the Social Sciences at Balliol College, University of Oxford.

(Suggested citation: S. Peterson, ‘Constitutional Entrenchment in England and the UK’ U.K. Const. L. Blog (25th March 2014) (available at  http://ukconstitutionallaw.org/).

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Dawn Oliver: Does treating the system of justice as a public service have implications for the rule of law and judicial independence?

oliverIf you asked a second year LLB student, or even a professor of public law or a legal practitioner, ‘what are the most fundamental functions of judges and the system of justice?’ you would probably get ‘doing justice to all without fear or favour’ and ‘upholding the rule of law’ among the most common answers. And if you asked ‘what are the most important ways in which performance of these functions is secured?’  you would expect to get ‘independence of the judiciary’ among the answers.

But if you visit the websites of the Ministry of Justice, the Lord Chancellor and Secretary of State for Justice, you will find no mention of these matters. These websites are mostly focused on the cost of legal aid, and criminal justice. And this notwithstanding the fact that the Constitutional Reform Act 2005 – also not mentioned on the websites – specifically preserves the Lord Chancellor’s role in relation to the rule of law (section 1(b)) and requires the Lord Chancellor and other Ministers to uphold the continued independence of the judiciary (section 3(1)). Why are judicial independence and the rule of law not mentioned? I suggest that it is because another understanding of the nature of the system of justice has gained currency in political and bureaucratic circles, an understanding that can do great damage to the rule of law.

The system of justice has come to be regarded by many as a public service like any other – and even only that. The title of Her Majesty’s Courts and Tribunals Service illustrates the point. But the trend goes back some thirty years. In 1986 a JUSTICE report stated that: ‘The courts … should be seen to provide a public service, as much as … the National Health Service’. (And presumably just as it would be inappropriate for the Secretary of State for Health to seek to pressurise a consultant to treat a patient in a particular way, so it would be inappropriate for the Lord Chancellor and other Ministers to ‘seek to influence particular judicial decisions through any special access to the judiciary’ (Constitutional Reform Act 2005, section 3(5)): by implication there is nothing exceptionally ‘constitutional’ or fundamental about the independence of the judiciary as compared to that of doctors.)

Since the promotion of the ‘Citizen’s Charter’ policy in 1991 the courts publish ‘charters’ for parties, witnesses and other, laying down ‘service standards’ as to delay, information, and how to complain about administration. Of course these matters are aspects of ‘service’ and do not touch upon the substance of judging, judicial independence and the rule of law. But for those who do not understand the rule of law and why it is important, it is only a small step to regarding judges themselves as only providers of services to litigants appearing before them, rather than as performers of an important constitutional role on which much of the system of government depends. I have heard it said at a Chatham House rule seminar by a senior civil servant that the role of the judiciary is not particularly special or different from the roles of doctors or nuclear regulators or anyone else involved in the running of public services.

The fundamental importance of justice, the rule of law and judicial independence are undermined by treating the system of justice as mainly just a public service: the system is different in important respects. The maintenance of the rule of law is of a different order of importance from the provision of other public services. The government and other public bodies are not ‘customers’ of, for instance, the NHS. They are often ‘customers’ of the system of justice, especially in judicial review and other public law cases and in criminal prosecutions. They may have self-serving or personal (not public) interests in the outcomes of cases, e.g. the avoidance of political embarrassment, gaining votes,  losing votes, loss of reputation, frustration in the pursuit of their favoured policies, loss of authority if they lose a case.

This ‘public service’ perspective puts some proposals for changes to the system of justice in a new light. The availability to critics of government of recourse to the courts and the independence of the judiciary can be a nuisance. What might a government do if it wanted to avoid litigation and embarrassment and enable it to get away with illegality? Just as, when developing policy in relation to the NHS, it can seek to limit access to the service (e.g. to drugs) and costs (e.g. by cutting staff, closing hospitals), so to it can do this in relation to the system of justice – but with startling consequences for the rule of law.  It could limit access to justice and deprive the courts of jurisdiction over unwelcome cases by reducing the limitation period for claiming judicial review and limiting the standing of charitable or voluntary sector bodies; it could find ways of weakening the ability of unpopular individuals (e.g. illegal immigrants, asylum seekers, convicted criminals) to pursue their claims in court by limiting their access to legal advice and representation; it could secure that unpopular parties (especially defendants in criminal cases) are less likely to win their cases, by depriving them of competent, reasonably paid representation; it could undermine the quality and thus the authority of the judiciary, deterring able practitioners from practice leading to judicial office by drastically reducing their earning capacity.

I do not allege that any of these are the conscious intentions of the government. But the overall effect of such changes, based in part on assumptions that the system of justice is just another public service, may be to undermine the independence of the judiciary, broadly understood, and the rule of law. Thinking of the system as a service obscures its special constitutional importance.

Dawn Oliver is an Emeritus Professor of Public Law at the Faculty of Laws, University College London.

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Robert Leckey: Suspended Declarations of Invalidity and and the Rule of Law

Professor Robert LeckeyIn December 2013, the Supreme Court of Canada declared the constitutional invalidity of three major provisions in the domestic criminal law on sex work. Specifically, in Canada (Attorney General) v Bedford, the Court struck down prohibitions against keeping a bawdy-house, living on the avails of prostitution, and communicating for the purposes of prostitution. The judges accepted argument by current and former prostitutes that the challenged provisions deprived them of their security of the person in a way incompatible with the principles of fundamental justice, contrary to s 7 of the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms. For the Court, the challenged provisions constrained sex workers’ ability to take steps to protect themselves. Sex work itself being legal, those prohibitions exacerbated its risks in a way that marked them as grossly disproportionate or overbroad.

Although the decision’s substance offers much for scholars of fundamental liberties to chew on, my present concern is the order issued and its implications for constitutional review. Whilst s 4 of the Human Rights Act 1998 merely empowers judges to declare that primary legislation infringes rights, without affecting its legal force, s 52(1) of Canada’s Constitution Act, 1982 affirms the Constitution of Canada’s ‘primacy’. It stipulates that any law inconsistent with the Constitution, of which the Charter is part, ‘is, to the extent of the inconsistency, of no force or effect’. On prevailing readings, this provision empowers the Court to strike down legislation it determines to be unconstitutional. Thus, although taxonomists of Bills of Rights debate the precise implications of the Charter’s distinctive elements, such as its derogation or ‘notwithstanding’ clause, the Canadian form of constitutional review appears to be relatively strong.

In Bedford the Supreme Court declared the challenged provisions to be invalid, but suspended its declaration of invalidity for one year. The Court expects Parliament to avoid an eventual regulatory void by enacting replacement legislation before that year elapses. Indeed, the Government of Canada has already launched online consultations.

This delayed remedy is doubly significant. Most concretely, it means that despite their ostensible legal victory, sex workers will continue to suffer risks to their safety seen by the Court as severe enough to make the provisions incompatible with fundamental rights. Early experience indicates that local authorities are enforcing the provisions to varying extents. Indeed, this state of legal uncertainty arguably undermines the rule of law. Still, strictly speaking, the provisions remain in force.

In addition, the suspended remedy in Bedford represents the culmination of judges’ reshaping of their role under the Charter. The initial position in Canadian law was that declaring legislation to be inconsistent with the Constitution made it immediately invalid. The first major exception arose in 1985, when the Supreme Court of Canada concluded that a century’s lawmaking by a provincial legislature was invalid for failure to follow a constitutional manner-and-form requirement to enact laws in French as well as English. The Court invoked the rule of law – its imperative to avoid a legal vacuum – in order to deem the legislation valid for the time required to translate and reenact the provincial statute book.

A few years later, in its leading judgment on constitutional remedies, the Court contemplated that, exceptionally, it might suspend a declaration of invalidity made under the Charter. A delay would be warranted where striking down legislation with nothing in its place would threaten the rule of law or pose a danger to the public.

The Court has never disavowed that discussion, but it has subsequently changed its approach. The judges have developed the habit of suspending declarations of invalidity in Charter cases. In doing so, they commonly refer not to threats to the rule of law or to the public, but to the appropriateness of making space for a legislative response. For some commentators, this approach fosters a democratically healthy ‘dialogue’ between judiciary and legislature.

Speaking comparatively, the Canadian judges have fashioned for themselves a remedial discretion that the Constitution of South Africa bestows on its judges. Section 172(1)(b)(ii) of the South African constitution contemplates that the judges may make ‘an order suspending the declaration of invalidity for any period and on any conditions, to allow the competent authority to correct the defect’.

The Supreme Court of Canada’s brief remedial discussion in Bedford merits scrutiny. The Court takes it as ‘clear that moving abruptly from a situation where prostitution is regulated to a situation where it is entirely unregulated would be a matter of great concern to many Canadians’. In contrast, ‘leaving the prohibitions … in place in their present form leaves prostitutes at increased risk for the time of the suspension – risks which violate their constitutional right to security of the person’. The judges hold that the ‘choice between suspending the declaration of invalidity and allowing it to take immediate effect is not an easy one’. They do little, however, to show themselves grappling with the difficulty. Without any explicit effort to weigh the opposing considerations or to compare their foreseeable costs and benefits, the Court concludes that the unconstitutional law should remain temporarily in force.

In effect, the Supreme Court of Canada has turned 180 degrees from its position twenty years ago. Danger used to be a reason for, exceptionally, suspending a declaration of invalidity. Now the Court suspends a declaration – in deference to the ‘great concern’ of ‘many Canadians’ and to Parliament’s prerogative to tackle a policy issue – in the face of evidence that the unconstitutional laws daily imperil the vulnerable class of sex workers.

More broadly, then, Bedford crystallizes the Court’s shift from using orders under the Charter to cease the effect of laws violating rights to using them to identify legislative priorities. To be sure, there are non-negligible political effects to the Court’s declaration that the prostitution laws harm their intended beneficiaries and to its 12-month countdown for Parliament. Still, that the sex workers should exit the courthouse as ‘victors’ while continuing to bear the brunt of laws shown to violate their fundamental rights suggests that the judges have used the remedial discretion they ascribed to themselves so as to weaken constitutional review in Canada.

The Canadian judges’ apparent underuse of their constitutional powers invites further study. Might this phenomenon countermand democratic theorists’ disappointment about how rarely Canadian parliamentarians have used their legislative override? It may also be a counterexample to the hunch – think of American judges’ recognition of the right to privacy in the penumbra of the First Amendment – that when judges reach beyond the constitutional text, they do so to expand rather than to restrain their powers.

For me, the crucial methodological takeaway – whatever your politics on rights, courts, and legislatures – is how partial a story about the character of judicial review emerges from a Bill of Rights’ text. To understand the political impact of a Bill of Rights, we need to scrutinize the procedural dimensions of its application by judges – matters too often dismissed as lawyerly ‘technicalities’. I contribute to this endeavour in my forthcoming book, Bills of Rights in the Common Law.

Robert Leckey is an Associate Professor of Law and William Dawson Scholar at the Faculty of Law, McGill University. He is scheduled to speak in the United Kingdom and South Africa about his forthcoming book on the following dates:  King’s College London – 12 May;  Oxford University – 13 May; Unisa, Pretoria – 15 May; Cape Town – 19 May; University College London – 17 June; London School of Economics – 29 October.  Further details for these talks may be obtained from the venues hosting the talks.

(Suggested citation: R. Leckey, ‘ Suspended Declarations of Invalidity and the Rule of Law’ U.K. Const. L. Blog (12th March 2014) (available at http://ukconstitutionallaw.org/)).

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Janet McLean: Hard power but soft law: second thoughts about the third source?

Janet McLeanDoes government have the power of an ordinary person, to do that which is not prohibited? Two recent cases, one from UK and one from NZ, raise this question and suggest it needs re-examining.

In the UK, statute deals with the requirements to be satisfied by international students applying to enter or remain under its migrant points system. Rules made under the statute must be laid before Parliament. Government “guidance” requires that student migrants must be sponsored by an educational institution holding a sponsor’s licence and sets out the requirements that educational institutions must satisfy in order to qualify for such a licence. The “guidance” is not laid before Parliament, and is frequently changed without notice.  An institution which loses its licence, and hence all of its international students and most of its business, attempts unsuccessfully to challenge the guidance.  In the UK Supreme Court, Lord Sumption (with whom Lords Hope, Clarke and Reed agreed) suggested that the “guidance”, though mandatory in part, had no necessary statutory or prerogative underpinning [28]. The publication of guidance does not require statutory authority and can be an exercise of the residual freedom government has to do anything an ordinary person can do which is not prohibited by law (R (on the application of New London College Ltd) v Secretary of State for the Home Department [2013] UKSC 51. Lord Carnwath disagreed, denying the existence of any authority for such a proposition and finding the impugned powers to be wholly derived from statute.

Highly controversial emergency powers are granted by an Act of Parliament (Canterbury Earthquake Recovery Act 2011) to assist in New Zealand’s recovery from the Canterbury Earthquake. These allow for the formulation of a recovery plan after formal consultation and hearings and the suspension of the usual planning laws after a notification procedure. The Minister issues “information” about different zones to which different compensation criteria apply without invoking the procedures required by the statute. This is treated by the New Zealand Court of Appeal (Ministry for Canterbury Earthquake Recovery v Fowler Investments [2013] NZCA 588 (Quake Outcasts case)) as an exercise of the residual power government has to do anything that is not prohibited by law. The “information” that a building is in a Red Zone and that a particular compensation package will apply is treated as not affecting the rights and liberties of property owners.  Being in the Red Zone does not of itself prohibit building or the granting of a building consent, prohibit residents from living there or require the demolition or repair of houses (the Court of Appeal affirmed here the High Court ruling in O’Loughlin v Tower Insurance [2013] NZHC 670). And yet, the Court of Appeal accepted that the Crown was pursuing a clearance programme to remove all buildings and improvements from Red Zone land, followed by the removal of infrastructure. The practical effect of the creation of the Red Zone and the terms of the compensation offer has been the exit of most residents from the area “leaving those who remain in a very difficult and unattractive position” [104].

In both cases the guidance has important practical consequences for the claimants but is treated as having no legal effect on the claimants’ rights and liberties. Both cases raise again the controversial question of the extent to which the government enjoys residual, “third source”, or ordinary law power, and if so what should be the appropriate legal controls on the scope and exercise of such power. And both raise the issue of whether we need to rethink judicial review doctrines in the light of new techniques of governance (see recently K Yeung, “Better Regulation, Administrative Sanctions and Constitutional Values” (2013) 33 Legal Studies 312-339).

These cases are examples of the informal “soft law” interventions favoured by the “better regulation” movement. In regulatory terms the New London College case concerns the co-option of educational institutions as private regulators engaged in the implementation of government policy. It is private institutions which must verify the seriousness of students’ study plans, their financial resources and their ability to follow their chosen course – with the incentive that their licence depends on it.  The guidance allows for different conditions to be placed on different institutions depending on whether they have “Highly Trusted” Status.   The Quake Outcasts case also involves the use of “soft power” – in the form of financial incentives rather than formal zoning laws. It leaves matters to be determined by individualised regulatory negotiations. These techniques are only “soft” in relation to the instruments they use rather than in their practical effects.

Lord Sumption in New London College admits that  the formal law is not a good fit with the regulatory framework: “the Immigration Act 1971 has not aged well” [1].  He helpfully raises the question of whether the idea that the government has the same residual powers as a natural person “is really apt in the case of public or governmental action, as opposed to purely managerial acts of a kind that any natural person could do, such as making contracts, acquiring or disposing of property, hiring and firing staff and the like” [28]. This distinction between “ordinary” and “governmental” powers sounds promising – especially given that judges tend instinctively to resist the imposition of public law controls on the “ordinary law of contract”. Such an approach would leave “ordinary contract law” relatively “untouched”. Even then the line may sometimes be hard to draw – would the acquisition of property in the Red Zone be more governmental (in pursuit of a government clearance programme) or managerial (a simple purchase)? He did not need to resolve the question in this case because he thought that there would be ancillary power to issue the guidance under the statute in any event.

The appellants in New College were challenging the existence of the power to issue guidance. They do not appear to have addressed the issue of whether the manner of the exercise of the power could be the subject of judicial review. A challenge to the way in which the power had been exercised may have been more useful in assisting them to recover their sponsor licence or obtain Highly Trusted Status. The New Zealand Court of Appeal did allow for the possibility that the exercise of residual freedom could be reviewable on reasonableness or rationality grounds [81] but it did not need to decide the point. (It left intact the declaratory relief awarded to the claimants in the High Court given on another basis.) The New Zealand Court of Appeal’s approach is surely the correct one. The availability of judicial review should not depend on the regulatory techniques chosen by governments in order to pursue their policies.

These issues are unlikely to go away any time soon. The regulatory theorists and the black letter lawyers need to engage in a better dialogue if we are to have a chance to resolve them.

Janet McLean is a Professor of Law at the University of Auckland.

 (Suggested citation: J. McLean, ‘Hard power but soft law: second thoughts about the third source?’ U.K. Const. L. Blog (27th February 2014) (available at http://ukconstitutionallaw.org/).

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Thomas Adams: Wade’s Factortame

Thomas CarterWilliam Wade’s analysis of the second Factortame case ((1996) 112 Law Quarterly Review 568) is well known, and justly so. The facts, too, require little in the way of rehearsal.  Briefly, and simplifying somewhat: the House of Lords, as it was then known, decided in 1990 to ‘disapply’ a 1988 statute of the UK Parliament – the Merchant Shipping Act (hereafter the MSA) – which may otherwise have frustrated the exercise of rights recognized in EU law, specifically, the rights of a number of Spanish fishermen to trawl in UK waters. In doing so, the court took itself to be acting under the auspices of the European Communities Act 1972 (hereafter the ECA), itself an Act of Parliament. The ECA provides, by section 2 (4), that European Union Law is to prevail over inconsistent Acts of Parliament ‘passed or to be passed’. Wade’s view was that, in ‘disapplying’ the 1988 Act, the House of Lords altered the fundamental rule of recognition in UK law and thereby affected a technical legal ‘revolution’, one which all but overthrew the doctrine of Parliamentary Sovereignty:

‘When in the second Factortame case the House of Lords [refused to apply the MSA] it was natural to suppose that something drastic had happened to the traditional doctrine of Parliamentary sovereignty. The established rule about conflicting Acts of Parliament, namely that the later Act must prevail, was evidently violated, since the later Act in this case was the [MSA], yet it was disapplied under the [ECA]… When that Act was nevertheless held to prevail it seemed to be fair comment to characterize this, at least in a technical sense, as a constitutional revolution.’

A number of issues arise out of Wade’s analysis, and in this note we focus on two lesser explored but, nonetheless, fundamental questions. The first concerns whether the ‘established rule’ that Wade cites properly applied in Factortame, and hence can be seen to have been modified by the ruling. The second concerns the implications of our first point for Wade’s description of the case. Our aim will be to cast doubt, from within the traditional framework, upon the thesis that Factortame was a ‘revolutionary’ ruling.

Was There A Conflict?

Doubtlessly there was. EU law granted rights to fish which would have been explicitly curtailed by the MSA, had it been applied. But was this the right type of conflict? Wade cites, as having been amended in the case, the following ‘established rule’:

Where two statutes conflict, the latter is to prevail over the former.

Does this rule apply in Factortame? Importantly, the question is not whether EU law itself conflicts with the MSA, because the requirements of the former, as interpreted by the European Court of Justice, are not themselves statutory. The relevant objects of interpretation for the purpose of the rule are the ECA, which requires courts to give effect to EU law, and the MSA, which restricts the rights of non-nationals fishing in UK waters.

Two statutes may be said to conflict if one requires a result that the other denies, if one affirms a proposition of law which the other repudiates. So, for example, a statute prohibiting the consumption of alcohol by those under the age of 18 conflicts with a statute granting children over 15 the right to drink alcohol under the supervision of their guardians. And under the established rule that which was formerly enacted should give way to the latter. What proposition did the MSA stand for? That UK nationals be granted a special dispensation to fish that was to be denied to EU citizens more generally. The question, then, is whether the ECA rejects this legal result and the answer must be that it does not. The ECA says nothing substantive about the rights of EU citizens, UK or otherwise, to fish and so cannot be said, itself, to conflict with the MSA.

One way to see this is to ask the question whether the ECA could be taken to conflict with the MSA if EU law did not grant directly enforceable rights to fish in UK waters to EU nationals. The answer, of course, is that it would not. But the question of whether two statutes conflict cannot be taken to depend upon factors other than their own content. If the ECA and MSA would not conflict in this situation, despite nothing having been changed in our imagined circumstances about the meaning of the statutes, then they cannot be taken to have been in conflict on the facts of Factortame. We cannot settle a matter of interpretation, in other words, on the ground of external contingencies.

To repeat, there was a legal conflict: between the MSA and directly enforceable EU law, which was required to be given effect to under the ECA, but not between the ECA and MSA. Why does this matter? It matters for the reason that the traditional rule that Wade cites – that where two statutes conflict the former must give way to the latter – did not apply in Factortame, and hence cannot be said to have been modified by the result. What the court did in that case was not to alter, or set aside, a long established and fundamental rule of UK Constitutional Law, but to fashion a novel principle – that legislation be given effect subject to EU law, that is, in accordance with the terms of the ECA so long as that statute remained on the books – in a novel constitutional situation. Note, moreover, that this rule does not contradict the central aspect of the doctrine of Parliamentary Sovereignty, the principle that Parliament may make or unmake any law whatsoever. The question of whether Parliament would have to repeal the ECA in order to legislate contrary to EU law, or simply decree that such legislation was to have effect ‘notwithstanding’ the ECA is a nice question of constitutional law, and the answer would probably be settled in favor of the latter.

Recognition and Revolution

Wade’s question, in light of his analysis, was this: ‘Has the House of Lords adopted a new “rule of recognition” or “ultimate legal principle”?’ Having concluded that the traditional rule concerning statutory conflict had been amended he answered in the affirmative, describing the situation as ‘revolutionary’. Disagreeing with Wade’s analysis, we may pose a different question in the terms suggested by our own argument: does the fact that the House of Lords established a rule in a situation of constitutional uncertainty entail that their verdict was one of revolutionary import? Does, in other words, the fact that the court made decision which, in this sense, affects the rule of recognition constitute a technical legal ‘revolution’? Seeing why it does not requires a better understanding of recognition rules, and their place in a constitutional order.

The constituent parts of a legal system, H.L.A. Hart famously argued, have synchronic identity in virtue of the fact that they are identified, by the courts, in accordance with the system’s ultimate criteria of recognition. These criteria – shown in use but rarely, if ever, stated in anything close to canonical form, complex and in various ways indeterminate – both fix the court’s ultimate duties within the system and bestow upon them a further responsibility. Because, ultimately, it is for the courts to interpret and apply the rule of recognition it falls on them, also, to resolve doubts and indeterminacies relating to its application. Such a task is not merely desirably placed within the hands of the courts, as legal experts, buts falls on their shoulders of necessity.

The courts have, in this sense, an inherent jurisdiction, in the context of controversy, to determine the limits of their own powers. This authority is, of course, limited by the central, uncontroversial tenets of constitutional doctrine, so no paradox arises, but the capacity is real nonetheless. Hart makes the point:

‘The possibility of the courts having authority at any given time to decide… limiting questions concerning the ultimate criteria of validity, depends… on the fact that, at that time, the application of those criteria to a vast area of the law… raises no doubts, though their precise scope and ambit do.’

At the limits of their role the courts must make decisions not controlled directly by the constitution, but at any rate within their power; this is what happened in Factortame. Is it right to call such judgments ‘revolutionary’? The answer, perhaps, may be less exciting than we have been lead to believe.

Thomas Adams is a D.Phil candidate at Balliol College, University of Oxford.

 Suggested citation: T. Adams, ‘Wade’s Factortame’ U.K. Const. L. Blog (24th February 2014) (available at: http://ukconstitutionallaw.org/).

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Alison Young on HS2: Wilkommen zum Constitutional Pluralism

young_alison-l2The HS2 case is widely recognised as the first important Constitutional case of the year. Its importance for parliamentary sovereignty and the relationship between EU law and national law appears to turn on four paragraphs: paragraph 79 of Lord Reed’s judgment and paragraphs 206 to 208 of the judgment of Lord Neuberger and Lord Mance. Mark Elliott states that these paragraphs suggest that, not only does the UK have a separate category of ‘constitutional statutes’ but that some constitutional statutes are more constitutional than others. Adam Tomkins comments that the case also demonstrates the dangers that can arise when the Court of Justice of the European Union (CJEU) interprets EU directives in a purposive or teleological manner, perhaps taking these provisions beyond what the Member States, represented by the Council, the European Parliament and the Commission intended. He welcomes the approach of the Supreme Court which questions the interpretation of the CJEU. I want to focus on another question – is HS2 best understood as the UK’s conclusive acceptance of constitutional pluralism? In doing so, I hope to demonstrate how this may alleviate the confusion that may be caused by multi-layers of constitutional statutes, as well as how this may help the UK to respond when it believes that the CJEU may have gone too far.

Constitutional Pluralism

Constitutional pluralism is a much-used term. It can be hard to define, particularly when separating it from the related issue of legal constitutionalism. It can also be hard to separate out when the term is used to describe inter-institutional relationships and when it is used to prescribe how institutions should relate to one another. For the purpose of this brief response, constitutional pluralism is defined as occurring when two or more institutions assert the authority to definitely resolve a particular issue, but where neither institution can effectively ‘make good’ on its assertion of authority.

Applied to the European Union, both the CJEU and national courts assert their claim to be the institution that definitively determines the nature of the relationship between national law and EU law. However, neither can fully make good on this claim. The CJEU does not stand in a hierarchical relationship to the national courts. As such, it cannot, as a matter of law, force the national courts to comply with its judgments. However, national courts are also not completely free of influence from the CJEU. They play a major role in implementing EU law, but have no power to declare EU law to be invalid and, for the highest level of court capable of adjudicating on a particular issue, have an, albeit limited, obligation to refer the case to the CJEU. Whilst the CJEU determines EU law, the national courts determine how this is applied to the facts.

Constitutional pluralism can also be applied to the UK. Whilst Parliament enacts legislation, courts determine the principles by which this legislation will be interpreted. Courts control executive actions, either according to common law principles or statutory provisions, and the legislature can enact measures to override common law principles or to oust the jurisdiction of the courts. Both Parliament and the courts have a role to play in determining how legislation is recognised, and in assessing what is meant by ‘parliamentary sovereignty’ when expressed as a legal principle. Whilst most English courts are courts of inherent jurisdiction, Parliament could still place judicial power on a statutory basis, determining its confines.

HS2 and the EU

It is easy to find references to a potential acceptance of constitutional pluralism in the, probably already seminal paragraphs of Lord Reed and of Lord Neuberger and Lord Mance. All argue that the relationship between EU law and national law is a matter for UK constitutional law, to be determined by the UK courts. This is true for conflicts between EU law and UK statutes and for conflicts between EU law and UK constitutional principles. Lord Reed states that the issue as to whether a Directive should override national law ‘cannot be resolved simply by applying the doctrine developed by the Court of Justice of the supremacy of EU law, since the application of that doctrine in our law itself depends upon the 1972 Act’ [79]. Further, [i]f there is a conflict between a constitutional principle … and EU law, that conflict has to be resolved by our courts as an issue arising under the constitutional law of the United Kingdom.’ [79] For Lord Neuberger and Lord Mance ‘[u]nder the European Communities Act 1972, United Kingdom courts have also acknowledged that European law requires them to treat domestic statutes, whether passed before or after the 1972 Act, as invalid if and to the extent that they cannot be interpreted consistently with European law’ [206]. As regards a potential conflict between EU law and national constitutional principles, ‘[i]t is, putting the point at its lowest, certainly arguable (and it is for United Kingdom law and courts to determine) that there may be fundamental principles, whether contained in other constitutional instruments or recognised at common law, of which Parliament when it enacted the European Communities Act 1972 did not either contemplate or authorise the abrogation’ [207].

Constitutional pluralism is also illustrated in the way in which all of the members of the Supreme Court interpret the requirements of the Directive. There is recognition of potential problems with its interpretation. This is analysed not just from a perspective of national constitutional principles. The Supreme Court looks at the separation of powers, a constitutional tradition shared by the Member States. EU scholars who advocate constitutional pluralism draw on its ability to encourage judicial dialogue and to act as a mutual check. In particular, national courts can point out when decisions of the CJEU may challenge national constitutional principles – and vice versa – helping to alleviate concerns that arise when the CJEU has been overly teleological or purposive in its interpretation of EU law. Constitutional pluralism at the EU level does not just involve the courts. National courts look to national law – including legislation. Member State governments can contribute third-party interventions to the CJEU.

Constitutional pluralism in the UK

Lord Reed, Lord Neuberger and Lord Mance all refer to constitutional principles. For Lord Reed, article 9 of the Bill of Rights 1689 ‘embodies’ a constitutional principle. If a statutory principle can embody a constitutional principle, then this would appear to suggest that this constitutional principle exists independent of its embodiment. It also raises questions as to whether constitutional principles can also be embodied in the common law. Lord Neuberger and Lord Mance also refer to fundamental principles ‘enshrined’ in the Bill of Rights. In addition, ‘[t]he common law itself also recognises certain principles as fundamental to the rule of law’ [207]. They also refer to ‘constitutional statutes’ and ‘constitutional instruments’, both of which appear to be different from ‘ordinary statutes’ and potentially different from one another.

To delineate between different levels of statutes in this manner adds to the confusion already created by the classification of some statutes as ‘constitutional’. Academic debate continues as to what, if anything, is meant by a ‘constitutional statute’ and recent decisions of the Supreme Court appeared to downplay their importance. Rather than adding to the confusion, it may be better to recognise that the English law recognises constitutional principles which can be embodied in statutes – whether classified as ‘constitutional statutes’ or ‘constitutional instruments’, embodied in the common law, or which can act as background principles used when interpreting the common law, actions of the administration and legislation.

To read the decision in this manner is to recognise another example of constitutional pluralism. Parliament enacts the law. Courts interpret its provisions. Parliament can enact legislation embodying constitutional principles. Courts can embody constitutional principles through developing the common law. Courts may also refer to constitutional principles when interpreting executive acts and legislation. In doing so, both the courts and Parliament can check on the potential excesses of the other in a manner similar to the Member States and the CJEU. This is not to argue anything novel – if anything it is to state the obvious. What needs to change is our analysis of constitutional decisions according to a bifurcation between parliamentary and judicial sovereignty and accept that both may assert sovereignty, but neither really is supreme.

 Alison Young is a Fellow and Tutor in law at Hertford College, University of Oxford.

Suggested citation: A. Young, ‘Wilkommen zum Constitutional Pluralism’ U.K. Const. L. Blog (17th February 2014)  (available at  http://ukconstitutionallaw.org/)

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