Tag Archives: Constitutional Statutes

by | March 7, 2013 · 9:59 am

Scott Stephenson: The Constitutional Significance of Statutory Repeal: How Far Can Parliament Turn Back the Clock?

stephenson_scottThe current system for human rights protection in the UK is once again under siege. In the last week, statements were made indicating that the Conservative Party’s manifesto for the next election would include major reforms to current arrangements. Chris Grayling, Justice Secretary and Lord Chancellor, declared that a future Conservative Government would repeal the UK Human Rights Act 1998 ‘and start[] again’, suggesting that it would be replaced by alternative legislation. Theresa May, Home Secretary, announced that the manifesto would include a promise to withdraw the UK from the European Convention on Human Rights.

In response, Mark Elliott, Conor Gearty and Adam Wagner wrote that these proposals might not have the effect that many people assume they would. Some of their arguments concern the ineffectiveness of partial reform—removing one element of the scheme for human rights protection but not both. In this post, I focus on their comments that relate to reform at the domestic level—repeal of the UK HRA followed by either no replacement law or a statute that confers markedly reduced powers on courts.

Mark Elliott and Conor Gearty raise two points about repeal of the UK HRA. First, the UK HRA has expanded the protection of rights at common law. As is well known, prior to the UK HRA many rights were recognised at common law and courts developed rules and principles to give effect to them. The principle of legality is one example, which provides that ‘[f]undamental rights cannot be overridden by general or ambiguous words’. These rights, rule and principles would not only subsist after repeal but also operate in an expanded guise. Mark Elliott states that the UK HRA has accelerated the protection of rights at common law by ‘produc[ing] a kind of alchemy, leading judges to discover what was already implicit in the common law while simultaneously augmenting the common law.’ Enactment of the UK HRA has fostered an awareness of rights throughout the British legal system that repeal is unlikely to mollify: ‘To assume … that repealing the HRA or even withdrawing from the ECHR would rid domestic law of the foreign influences that have supposedly tainted it in recent years betrays a naïve misunderstanding of the nature of our common law constitution.’ This awareness will be reflected in the direction and pace of common law development.

Second, repeal of the UK HRA may prompt courts to employ alternative, more controversial, means of protecting rights. British judges have occasionally suggested that a court might decide to disapply or invalidate a statute in exceptional circumstances. In R (Jackson) v Attorney General, Lord Hope stated that the principle of parliamentary sovereignty ‘is no longer, if it ever was, absolute … It is no longer right to say that its freedom to legislate admits of no qualification whatever.’ The UK HRA has, as Mark Elliott and Conor Gearty note, reduced the need for courts to contemplate this issue with respect to human rights. Judges are supplied with a range of remedial powers to address executive and legislative actions that violate rights, obviating the need to turn to the common law to respond such as through a power of invalidation. Furthermore, Conor Gearty observes that ‘some judges might even be emboldened to strike down acts of parliament for breach of human rights, something that the current legislation specifically prohibits and so would be easier with the Human Rights Act off the scene.’ Thus, repeal of the UK HRA might, depending on what replaces it, re-agitate this controversial, untested realm of constitutional law by removing two defusing factors: the provision of statutory remedies and the prohibition on invalidation.

These comments underscore that enactment and repeal are substantively different acts—one is not the mirror image of the other. Putting the doctrine of implied repeal to one side (see Factortame and Thoburn), the UK HRA was deliberately designed not to disturb the power of express repeal. Unlike the human rights instruments of most countries, it is not constitutionally entrenched and is therefore capable of express amendment and repeal through the ordinary law making process. Yet here we see the UK HRA opening a gulf between constitutional form and substance—even if Parliament complies with the constitutional procedure for repeal, the substantive rights are not necessarily withdrawn if courts incorporate them into the common law. Parliament can attempt to abolish common law rights by express enactment, but this may only raise another set of constitutional constraints. Courts may either impede their ouster using the same techniques they have with privative clauses or invoke the second scenario mentioned above (statutory invalidation).

More importantly, the issue raises the question of how courts should interpret a legislative decision to repeal. Not all statutes are alike. Lord Justice Laws has said (in the context of implied repeal) that ‘[w]e should recognise a hierarchy of Acts of Parliament: as it were “ordinary” statutes and “constitutional” statutes.’ The UK HRA is undoubtedly a statute of this stature, even beyond the matter of implied repeal. British courts, for instance, took s 3(1) of the UK HRA to constitute a ‘strong adjuration’ to develop a markedly more expansive principle of legality, thereby augmenting the judiciary’s constitutional role.

By extension, does this mean that not all repeals are alike? If the enactment of a statute can affect the common law, should courts take the repeal of a statute, especially one that is constitutional, as an indication of how they should develop the common law in future cases? Should courts interpret a legislative decision to repeal the UK HRA as a similarly ‘strong adjuration’ to abandon the more expansive principle of legality? After all, courts could, if the UK HRA were repealed, continue to interpret statutes in the same manner and even continue to issue informal declarations of incompatibility. But if enactment of the UK HRA amounted to a legislative decision to transfer greater responsibility to courts for the protection of rights, should its repeal be understood as a reversal of that transfer of responsibility? Should the response of courts differ if repeal is accompanied by a good faith effort on the part of Parliament to increase its capacity and willingness to protect rights, for example, by strengthening the Joint Committee on Human Rights or reforming the House of Lords?

While such questions are speculative at this point in time, they raise weighty issues of constitutional law. The prospect of repeal invites us to consider the interaction between statute and common law, the difference between entrenched and unentrenched human rights instruments, the bi-directionality of law—whether it is possible for the legislature to give with one hand and take away with the other and whether that is the appropriate frame of reference for human rights—and the scope and limits of legislative power to direct and modify the role the judiciary performs in society.

 

Scott Stephenson is a Fox International Fellow at Cambridge University and a J.S.D. Candidate at Yale University

Suggested citation: S. Stephenson  ’The Constitutional Significance of Statutory Repeal: How Far Can Parliament Turn Back the Clock?’ UK Const. L. Blog (7th March 2013) (available at http://ukconstitutionallaw.org)

 

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by | October 8, 2012 · 7:46 am

Tarun Khaitan: The ‘constitution’ as a Statutory Term

Constitution. A word that readers of this blog use and encounter frequently in academic, judicial and political discourse. It is one thing, however, for academics, politicians, or even judges to invoke ‘the constitution’, quite another for Parliament to do so in legislation. As that (other) great jurist Salmond once explained, unlike judgments, ‘one of the characteristics of enacted law is its embodiment in authoritative formulae. The very words in which it is expressed—the litera scripta—constitute part of the law itself.’ To use Salmond’s metaphor, ‘Case law is gold in the mine—a few grains of the precious metal to the ton of useless matter—while statute law is coin of the realm ready for immediate use.’ For this reason, words are usually employed in statutes with great care. On their precise meaning and scope—as determined by judicial interpretation—hang significant legal rights and duties.

With able research assistance from Mr Tom Pascoe who helped filter out hundreds of other uses, I have found the following statutory references to the term ‘constitution’ or its cognates which use the term to signify the British constitution (or the constitutions of England or Scotland, before the political union of these countries).

1. In the short title of the statute:

      – Constitutional Reform Act 2005

      – Constitutional Reform and Governance Act 2010

2. In the Preamble/Introductory Text:

            – Coronation Oath Act 1688

            – Claim of Right Act 1689 [enacted by the Scottish Parliament]

            – Heritable Jurisdictions (Scotland) Act 1746

            – Statute of Westminster 1931

3. In Substantive Sections:

            – Criminal Libel Act 1819 [s 1]

            – Internationally Protected Persons Act 1978 [s 1(5)(a)]

            – Fire and Rescue Services Act 2004 [s 5D(2)]

            – Constitutional Reform Act 2005 [s 1]

            – Legislative and Regulatory Reform Act 2006 [s 3(2)(f)]

            – Legal Services Act 2007 [s 1(1)]

            – Localism Act 2011 [s 6(2)]

4. In Schedules:

            – Scotland Act 1998 [Schedule 5, Part 1, Para 1]

            – Equality Act 2010 [Schedule 3, Part 1]

            – Appropriation Act 2011 [Schedule 2, Part 2, Para 1] – Similar references are found in almost every Appropriation Act since 1996.

Thus, there are at least fifteen statutes which use the term in the relevant sense. In the seventeen years since 1996, at least ten statutes making explicit references to the British constitution have entered the statute books (counting the annual Appropriation Acts only once). Compare this to a mere five statutory references in the three hundred and eight years between 1689 and 1996. It seems, therefore, that the rate at which the legislature is using the term in statutes since 1996 is about thirty-six times the rate at which it did so between 1689 and 1996!

An important implication for this burgeoning usage is that, in the absence of any statutory definition and little guidance, it falls upon judges to determine the meaning and scope of what the constitution of the UK is. Notice that at least some of these statutes, while making references to the constitution, do not refer to the legal aspects of the constitution alone. So, in the appropriate case, judges may be called upon to determine what is the scope of the political constitution. What’s more, at least under the Legislative and Regulatory Reform Act, the Localism Act and the Fire and Rescue Services Act, they will not only determine the scope of the (political and legal) constitution, but also protect it against Executive legislation. Readers who are interested in a classification of these statutory usages and further details on these and other significant implications of such usage may be interested in the full article here.

Finally, if anyone can point to a statute that uses the term in the relevant sense and is not on this list, I will be very grateful.

Tarun Khaitan is a Fellow and Tutor in Law, Wadham College, Oxford

Suggested citation: T. Khaitan, ‘The ‘constitution’ as a Statutory Term’   UK Const. L. Blog (7th October 2012) (available at http://ukconstitutionallaw.org

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by | January 10, 2012 · 4:41 pm

Tarun Khaitan: How to interpret Constitutional Statutes?

Most of us will be aware of the famous remarks of Lord Justice Laws in Thoburn v Sunderland City Council (2002) that constitutional statutes are immune from implied repeal, and therefore somewhat entrenched against Parliament. The issue of the entrenchment of the UK constitution against non-sovereign legislatures, such as the devolved legislatures and the European Union, has received relatively less attention.

In this post, I will highlight a purpose other than that of entrenchment for which certain statutes are being characterised as ‘constitutional’. In the following cases, the devolution statutes, namely the Scotland Act 1998, the Northern Ireland Act 1998, the Government of Wales Acts 1998 and 2996, have been so characterised in order to justify the adoption of special interpretive approaches towards these statutes.

At least two broad, and apparently inconsistent, interpretive rules can be seen to be emerging. On the one hand, we have cases which suggest that constitutional statutes, like canonical constitutional codes in other jurisdictions, should be interpreted in a generous and purposive manner. On the other hand, some judges have held that constitutional statutes require literal interpretation, with especial fidelity to the text. Their argument is that Parliament has chosen a precise set of words while being fully cognisant of the constitutional importance of the Bill under consideration. As such, they call for strong judicial deference.

The most famous case adopting the first position is the judgment of the House of Lords in Robinson v Secretary of State for Northern Ireland (2002). The case concerned the validity of the election of the First Minister and his Deputy by the Northern Ireland Assembly two days after a six-week deadline prescribed by the Northern Ireland Act 1998 for such election. A majority in the House of Lords upheld the election as valid. Lord Bingham, speaking for the majority, held that:

The 1998 Act does not set out all the constitutional provisions applicable to Northern Ireland, but it is in effect a constitution. So to categorise the Acts is not to relieve the courts of their duty to interpret the constitutional provisions in issue. But the provisions should, consistently with the language used, be interpreted generously and purposively, bearing in mind the values which the constitutional provisions are intended to embody. [11]

He suggested that the purposes of the Northern Ireland constitution included ensuring ‘that there be no governmental vacuum’, attempting ‘to end decades of bloodshed’ and facilitating ‘participation by the unionist and the nationalist communities in shared political institutions … [which] had to have time to operate and take root.’[10] The rationale for the six-week deadline, Lord Hoffmann explained in his concurring opinion, had ‘been to induce a willingness to compromise on the part of the members of the Assembly by the prospect of having to fight a new election.’[28] Giving the requirement of the deadline a rigid interpretation to invalidate the election held after it had passed, he argued, would be contrary to the most fundamental purpose of the Belfast Agreement which the 1998 Act was clearly seeking to implement: ‘namely to create the most favourable constitutional environment for cross-community government.’[30]

Lord Hoffmann’s reliance on the Belfast Agreement is particularly interesting. He justified this reliance by suggesting that the Agreement, along with the political context surrounding it, formed ‘part of the admissible background for the construction of the Act just as much as the Revolution, the Convention and the Federalist Papers are the background to construing the Constitution of the United States.’[33] In doing so, he borrowed from the interpretive traditions usually applied in the context of short, general and vague constitutional texts, citing the paradigm example of constitutionalism of this variety, namely the United States.

In Imperial Tobacco Limited (2010), Lord Bracadale expressly followed this ‘purposive and generous’ approach in Robinson to hold that ‘The court should endeavour to find in the Scotland Act a constitutional settlement which is coherent, stable and workable.’[3]

Similarly, the High Court in R (Governors of Brynmawr Foundation School) v The Welsh Ministers (2011) also cited Robinson to hold that the Government of Wales Acts (1998 and 2006) were constitutional statutes, and therefore ‘in applying the rules of statutory construction in order to determine the scope of the powers conferred on the Welsh Ministers or the Assembly by GOWA 2006, the court will take into account its constitutional status.’[73] Mr Justice Beatson adopted a generous approach and held that ‘Given the constitutional status of GOWA 2006, the court is reluctant to read implied limitations into it by reference to legislation which is not of a “constitutional” nature.’[87]

Apparently endorsing this approach, the Supreme Court said recently in AXA General Insurance v The Lord Advocate (2011) that ‘The carefully chosen language in which [certain provisions of the Scotland Act] are expressed is not as important as the general message that the words convey. The Scottish Parliament takes its place under our constitutional arrangements as a self-standing democratically elected legislature.’ [46]

On the other hand, there are cases which, while they agree that a special interpretive approach is warranted for constitutional settlements contained in devolution statutes, adopt an interpretive approach that is quite the opposite of the one just described. Thus, in Mills v HM Advocate (No 2) (2001) the High Court of Justiciary said that

‘There is also, in our view, force in the argument that the particular and detailed provisions dealing with devolution issues are part of the constitutional settlement embodied in the Scotland Act and that requirement should not therefore be avoided or circumvented. If the effect of the provisions is that appeals are open to the Privy Council on matters involving questions of Scots criminal law, that, in our view, must simply be accepted. It does not provide any reason to reject the argument based on the plain terms of the legislation.’ [19]

Soon after Mills, the Privy Council held in “R” v HM Advocate [2002] that ‘The Scotland Act is a major constitutional measure which altered the government of the United Kingdom’.  In this case, Lord Rodger suggested that when Parliament had consciously enacted ‘a constitutional settlement of immense social and political significance’, courts must be especially deferential: they ‘must loyally give effect to the decision of Parliament on this sensitive matter, even if – or perhaps especially if – there are attractions in a different solution’.[155]

Unlike the first set of cases, these two cases suggest that the proper way to interpret constitutional statutes is to do so literally rather than purposively. Indeed, they demand a literal application of even the mundane or ordinary provisions contained in constitutional statutes (after all, not all provisions in a constitutional statute are ‘constitutional’). The rationale seems to be that Parliament has in its wisdom settled these mundane details while being sensitive to the constitutional nature of the overall project. This context implies that the importance of the overall project rubs off to some extent on all provisions contained in a constitutional statute. The room for judicial manoeuvre is small, and a literal interpretation that is warranted. The second set of cases seems to better recognise that UK style constitutional statutes (at least those containing the devolution settlements), although ‘constitutional’, remain statutes. They are drafted differently from canonical constitutional codes, and tend to be very detailed, delving into the minutiae of governmental functioning.

One may think that these two interpretive approaches can be reconciled with each other, inasmuch as they (one may argue), apply to different types of constitutional provisions. On this argument, one could say, that a generous and purposive interpretive approach is appropriate for provisions which are framed in a general and vague language, or which embody broad legal principles normally found in preambles to constitutions and Bills of Rights. On the other hand, a literal approach is best for those constitutional provisions which embody a detailed rule where the scope for indeterminacy is minimal. Such a distinction is surely plausible, except that it cannot be supported on the facts of the cases described above. The provision being interpreted in Robinson was fairly clear, specifying a fixed time period within which the elections of the Ministers was to take place. Indeed, most of the aforementioned cases dealt with relatively precise and detailed provisions in constitutional statutes. Which of these two approaches ultimately finds favour with the courts remains to be seen.

Tarunabh Khaitan is a Fellow in Law, Christ Church, Oxford.

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by | November 28, 2011 · 5:26 pm

Gordon Anthony: Axa – A view from Northern Ireland

It is a little over 6 weeks since the Supreme Court delivered its long-awaited ruling in Axa General Insurance v Lord Advocate [2011] UKSC 46. Although the ruling was of primary importance to Scottish law – see, for instance, its liberalisation of the rules on title and interest/standing – the challenge to the Damages (Asbestos-related Conditions) (Scotland) Act 2009 that had been enacted in the face of Rothwell ([2007] UKHL 39) was of considerable interest in Northern Ireland too. This was not just because the Northern Ireland Assembly had enacted parallel legislation in 2011, but also because it was expected that the Supreme Court would address complex constitutional questions about the nature of the powers of the three devolved legislatures. When it finally did so, the Court made clear that the devolved legislatures are not legally sovereign but that they are, nevertheless, democratically legitimated bodies that will attract only very limited judicial scrutiny outside the terms of their constitutive Acts.

The central issue in the case was whether the Damages (Asbestos-related Conditions) (Scotland) Act 2009 was ultra vires section 29(2)(d) of the Scotland Act 1998  by reason of being a disproportionate interference with the Article 1 Protocol 1 ECHR rights of the appellant insurance companies. The appellants’ submissions on this point failed because the Supreme Court was of the view that the legislation had been introduced to remedy a social injustice and because, in those circumstances, a court should interfere with the “public interest” choice of a legislature only where the choice is “manifestly unreasonable”. This, in turn, might have been dispositive of the case as it was noted that a further challenge based upon common law irrationality would inevitably fail if the Convention threshold of manifest unreasonableness could not be met (see para. 42 of Lord Hope’s judgment). However, rather than leave the matter there, the Court took the opportunity to elaborate upon the nature of the common law limitations that can apply to Acts of the Scottish Parliament. It is in that context that Axa is most relevant to Northern Ireland.

The Court developed two main points about the common law. The first was that common law irrationality does not lie as a ground for review of Acts primarily because of the constitutional nature of the Scottish Parliament. While Lords Hope and Reed emphasised that the Scottish Parliament is not legally sovereign in the sense that the Westminster Parliament is, they equally emphasised that the broader design of the Scotland Act 1998 entails that the powers of the Scottish Parliament cannot easily be compared to those of other recipients of delegated powers. Lord Hope thus said at paragraph 46 that the Scottish Parliament is a “self-standing democratically elected legislature. Its democratic mandate to make laws for the people of Scotland is beyond question”; and Lord Reed similarly noted that “(w)ithin the limits set by section 29(2) … its power to legislate is as ample as it could possibly be: there is no indication in the Scotland Act of any specific purposes which are to guide it in its law-making or of any specific matters to which it is to have regard” (para. 146). Against that background, it was thought that it would be inappropriate for unelected judges to use common law irrationality (or unreasonableness or arbitrariness) as a means to second guess the preferences of a democratically elected Parliament (albeit that Lord Mance was less absolute in his conclusions: see para. 97).

The second point was that the common law could be expected to intervene where the Scottish Parliament legislated in such a way as to threaten the rule of law as the cornerstone of the UK constitution. For Lord Hope, this was something that could occur where executive dominance of a legislature might allow a government to introduce legislation purporting to “abolish judicial review or diminish the role of the courts in protecting the interests of the individual”. Referring to Lord Hailsham’s famous words in The Dilemma of Democracy and Lord Steyn’s comments in Jackson, his Lordship noted the increasing influence of a single party in Holyrood and said that “the rule of law requires that the judges must retain the power to insist that legislation of that extreme kind is not law which the courts will recognise” (para. 51). Lord Reid likewise identified values that he thought the Scottish Parliament could not abrogate, where he took as his starting point the interpretive presumption that prohibits recipients of power from acting contrary to common law fundamental rights save where the Westminster Parliament has expressly authorised that outcome. On this basis, his Lordship said that the Scotland Act 1998 is legislation “for a liberal democracy founded on particular constitutional principles and traditions … [Westminster] cannot be taken to have intended to establish a body which was free to abrogate fundamental rights or to violate the rule of law” (para. 153).

So, what does this all mean for the Northern Ireland Assembly? Certainly, the Supreme Court’s recognition of the need for heightened caution when courts are engaged in common law review complements earlier Northern Ireland jurisprudence on the legality of Orders in Council made under the Northern Ireland Act 2000 (the Act, now repealed, applied when the Northern Ireland Assembly was suspended). Such Orders are the constitutional equivalent of Acts of the Assembly, and the Northern Ireland courts refused to become involved in review processes that would have led them to consider the underlying policy of particular Orders (see, for instance, Re Carter’s Application [2011] NIQB 15). Axa, in that sense, has provided indirect confirmation that the Northern Ireland case law was correctly decided and that the courts were right to refuse to strain democratic principle.

In contrast, the understanding that the Assembly is not legally sovereign is essentially unremarkable, largely because debate in Northern Ireland has long been concerned more with ideas of political sovereignty and the so-called “consent” principle that underpins the Belfast Agreement of 1998.  According to that principle – which finds legal expression in section 1 of the Northern Ireland Act 1998 – Northern Ireland is to remain as a part of the UK for so long as a majority of its electorate wishes it do so. However, while that situates the Northern Ireland Assembly within the UK’s constitutional structures, section 1 also provides that the Westminster Parliament will legislate to give effect to a majority electoral decision that Northern Ireland should cease to be a part of the UK and should form part of a United Ireland (see, too, Article 3 of the Irish Constitution, 1937). The Northern Ireland Act 1998 has therefore never really been regarded as something that can/should sustain a legally sovereign legislature, even if the Act has been described as a “constitutional statute” (see Robinson v Secretary of State for Northern Ireland [2002] UKHL 32). It has instead been viewed as an Act that accommodates a delicate political accord that may later place Northern Ireland in a different sovereign setting altogether.

More complex is the position in respect of executive dominance and fundamental rights. Taking first the peril of executive dominance, the Northern Ireland Assembly is already characterised by such dominance given the consociational model of governance that defines the Belfast Agreement and Part III of the Northern Ireland Act 1998. That said, such dominance is several steps removed from the kind that concerned Lords Hailsham and Steyn, as the Northern Ireland Executive presently comprises Ministers from five political parties who must work together within a framework of elaborate checks and balances (both as apply to the Executive and within the Assembly). While it is, of course, theoretically possible that the Executive could pilot legislation that would seek to abolish judicial review, this would require a level of political co-operation on a controversial issue that would escape all previous experience in Northern Ireland, not to mention the checks and balances. To return to Lord Hope’s observation about the increasing influence of a single party in Holyrood, the absence of any related dynamic in the Northern Ireland Assembly perhaps limits the reach of his point about executive dominance. Indeed, it might even be said that legislation to abolish judicial review in Northern Ireland could be enacted only in the highly improbable circumstance that almost all parties to government simultaneously opted to jettison the rule of law.

Lord Reed’s comments on fundamental rights do, however, have a more immediate resonance in Northern Ireland, as the Robinson case had earlier established the importance of interpreting the devolution Acts in the light of the values that they embody (Robinson was concerned the interpretation of provisions on the election of the First and Deputy First Ministers: Lord Reed referred to the case at para. 153). So will this lead to the development of a more nuanced body of case law on the values of democracy, equality and rights that are generally said to inform devolution in Northern Ireland? Probably not, as the fuller thrust of Axa points away from ready judicial engagement with the legislative choices of the Assembly save to the extent that they are argued to contravene section 6(2)(c) of the Northern Ireland Act 1998 (the equivalent provision of section 29(2)(d) of the Scotland Act 1998). That said, ongoing political debate about the future of the Human Rights Act 1998 does suggest, at its most extreme, that the Act might be repealed and replaced with one or more of a number of Bills of Rights. In that event, sections 6(2)(c) and 29(2)(d) would become redundant on their current terms and they would have to amended to accommodate any new rights reality. Should that reality leave constitutional gaps, Axa’s potential for common law intervention might quickly be realised.

 

Gordon Anthony is Professor of Public Law at Queen’s University Belfast

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by | September 24, 2011 · 11:30 am

Alison L. Young: Fixed-Term Parliaments and Neurath’s Ship

The UK constitution could be compared to Neurath’s ship. Unlike other countries, the UK cannot point to a single defining moment when a constitution was definitively ‘launched’, its provisions set out in one document named ‘Constitution’. The UK’s constitution has evolved over time, building on and replacing the ‘old timbers’ of statutes, common law, conventions, non-legally enforceable rules, prerogative powers, practices and principles that make up our more loosely constructed (and some would argue leaking) constitution. In one sense, the recently enacted Fixed-Term Parliaments Act 2011 is a small timber replacement; just another piece of legislation that regulates constitutional matters by providing for fixed-term Parliaments. However, it also raises more fundamental issues. Just as it may be difficult to determine when a series of small changes has provided Neurath with a new ship, the Fixed-Term Parliaments Act 2011 may be part of a series of small incremental changes that is modifying the fundamental nature of the UK constitution.

On its face, the legislation appears to be modest. It fixes the date of the next general election as 7 May 2015 (section 1(2)) and fixes the terms of future Parliaments to five years (section 1 (3)). Parliament is automatically dissolved 17 working days before the election date (section 3(1)), replacing the prerogative power of the Monarch to dissolve Parliament (section 3(2)). The fixed five-year term can be extended for up to 2 months by a standing order made by the Prime Minister, approved by affirmative resolution of both Houses, with the Prime Minister being required to set out the reasons for the delay in the standing order (sections 1(5), 1(6) and 1(7)). This is designed to enable flexibility should polling day coincide with national or other emergency situations – e.g. as was the case with the foot and mouth crisis in 2002.

There are also two ways in which Parliament can be dissolved before the end of the five-year fixed term. First, the House of Commons, by a two-thirds majority, may pass a motion “That there should be an early parliamentary election” (section 2(1) and 2(2)). Second the House of Commons, acting by a simple majority, may pass a motion “That this House has no confidence in Her Majesty’s Government” which is not followed, within 14 days, by the passing of a second motion, again by simple majority, “That this House has confidence in her Majesty’s Government” (Sections 2(3), 2(4) and 2(5)). In both of these instances, the date for the general election is determined by a proclamation of Her Majesty, on advice from the Prime Minister (Section 2 (7)), Parliament dissolving 17 working days before the date set (section 3(1)).

Sections 4 and 5 of the Act resolve the difficulties arising from the coincidence of the date for the next general election for the Westminster Parliament falling on the same day as the date fixed for elections to the Scottish Parliament and the National Assembly for Wales, moving the date for these elections to 5 May 2016. In addition, the Prime Minister is required to make arrangements for a committee, the majority of whose members must belong to the House of Commons, to carry out a review of the consequences of the Act. The committee, if it finds it appropriate, may recommend the repeal or amendment of the Act, publishing its findings. The arrangements for the committee are to be made no earlier than 1 June and no later than 30 November 2020.

The justification for the legislation, as presented by the Deputy Prime Minister, also appeared to be uncontroversial. Prior to its enactment the power to dissolve Parliament was a prerogative of the Crown. In practice, this meant that the Prime Minister was able to determine the date at which general elections were held, provided that this was within five years from the last general election. As such, the Prime Minister could use this power to time the general election when it would be more likely that the Prime Minister’s government would be re-elected. A fixed term removes this power. It aims to enhance democracy, transferring a power of the Prime Minister to the House of Commons. Democracy may also be enhanced through the codification of votes of no confidence. This may be used both to vote out a Government which has lost the confidence of the House of Commons, but could also be used to require a motion to approve a newly-formed Government. This may give an extra layer of democratic legitimacy when the leadership of a political party changes, leading to the replacement of one Prime Minister with another, where there is a major cabinet reshuffle, or where coalition Governments are formed. However, the two-thirds majority required to call an earlier election may be nigh on impossible to obtain. In addition, the Monarch still retains her power to prorogue Parliament (section 6(1)). This may leave open the possibility of the Prime Minister responding to losing a vote of no confidence by requesting the prorogation of Parliament, ensuring that a different Government cannot be formed and obtain the approval of a vote of confidence within 14 days, thus forcing a general election.

However, even if there is general agreement surrounding the desirability of enhancing the powers of the House of Commons vis-à-vis the power of the executive, there was still a degree of controversy surrounding the provisions of the Act. Is five years too long? Five years may have been the maximum length of Parliament but, even if the face of more recent longer terms, it is by no means the average length of modern Westminster Parliaments. Moreover, research carried out by the Constitution Unit demonstrated the preference for shorter terms in most other legislative chambers and strongly advocated a four-year fixed term. Despite this, an amendment to move to four year terms was defeated.

Are fixed-term Parliaments a good idea generally, or are they merely required for a coalition Government? This issue led to deadlock, with the House of Lords proposing a ‘sunset’ clause requiring both the House of Commons and the House of Lords to renew the legislation after each general election. The deadlock between the two houses  was finally resolved through the insertion of the requirement to arrange for a committee to review the Act in 2020 (the Parliament Act 1911-1949 procedure could not be used, given the provisions in the legislation enabling the life of Parliament to be extended to more than five years).

More fundamentally, the Act has deeper constitutional implications. First, it is further evidence of the codification/legalisation of the UK constitution? The prerogative power of the Monarch to dissolve Parliament is replaced by a legally regulated power; the consequences of votes of no confidence are no longer regulated by constitutional convention but by statute. This raises the issue as to whether these matters will be regulated by the courts, or whether the courts would regard these issues as non-justiciable being the subject of parliamentary privilege. Second, the Act was referred to in debates as a ‘constitutional’ statute. As such, should it be interpreted differently by the courts than other statutes (Robinson v Secretary of State for Northern Ireland); be incapable of being impliedly repealed (Thoburn v Sunderland City Council); or should it have been enacted differently from other, ordinary legislation, perhaps requiring White and Green papers and greater pre-legislative scrutiny, or even a different voting mechanism, as in the two-thirds voting requirement for the motion for an earlier general election (see  House of Lords Constitution Committee Report The Process of Constitutional Change, 15th Report of 2010-2012)? Third, there are implications for parliamentary sovereignty. Dicey’s conception of sovereignty clearly requires that all statutes are equal, but the increasing recognition of ‘constitutional statutes’ would suggest that some statutes are more equal than others. The reference in the title to Parliaments as opposed to Parliament and the rejection by the House of Commons of the ‘sunset’ clause clearly indicates an intention that this legislation binds future Parliaments. However, there are no provisions specifically preventing Parliament from enacting legislation to amend or overturn the Act. Moreover, it may be possible for Parliament to repeal the Act by implication; enacting legislation to dissolve Parliament, or providing for an earlier election. Is the Act further evidence of a challenge to the accuracy and normative justification of ‘Parliamentary Sovereignty’ as a fundamental feature of the UK Constitution?

More fundamentally, it calls into question the way in which our constitution is formed. The Act modifies the definition of Parliament and the way in which it votes. Does or should Parliament have the power to redefine itself If so, than Neurath’s ship really would have been replaced. As with most aspects of the UK constitution, only time will tell. But perhaps a better understanding of the provisions of the Act is to see this as a step towards, as opposed to the accomplishment of, a definitive shift to fixed-term Parliaments. Not only does the Act itself require a committee to investigate whether the Act should continue in force, but also, should its principles be ignored, the courts will be called upon to resolve the perceived constitutional crisis. To interpret the Act as a further example of the way in which Parliament may bind its successors my remove this essential checking function of the court, replacing its ability to assess legal and political realties with an obligation to interpret a statutory provision according to the will of Parliament (however difficult this may be to ascertain). This may damage the flexible, evolving nature of the UK constitution, as well as granting far greater powers to Parliament than Dicey’s theory may have originally intended.

Alison L. Young is a Fellow at Hertford College, Oxford.

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