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When Elizabeth Truss was appointed Lord Chancellor and justice secretary there was considerable disquiet. The first holder of the combined roles Lord Falconer went so far to call the appointment “unlawful” and inappropriate. Others like Joshua Rozenberg (and myself) reserved judgment. After all, natural justice requires everyone to be assessed on their merits. Read more
On Tuesday, an English judge refused a request by the National Crime Agency to require an alleged hacker Lauri Love to provide his encryption keys. The decision can be read here. It was a serious and embarrassing legal defeat for the agency — a body described by some as “the UK’s FBI”.
This defeat was not — or should not have been — surprising. The agency had attempted to circumvent the relevant law regarding the disclosure of encryption keys, and the district judge at Westminster magistrates’ court ruled that this tactic was not open to it. As the judge notes:
“The case management powers of the court are not to be used to circumvent specific legislation that has been passed in order to deal with the disclosure sought.”
This case, however, is more significant than a junior judge simply putting a law enforcement body back in its box. Read more
If there is an epitome of just how bad the tenure was of the previous Lord Chancellor and Secretary of State for Justice it has to be the prison books fiasco. This remarkable policy — even more than the time the Ministry of Justice instructed counsel to submit to the High Court that the Lord Chancellor should be able to disregard the rule of law — told observers all they needed to know about the ways in which Chris Grayling was running his department.
The thing about the prison books fiasco was that it was not even a deliberate policy decision: the listing of books as a “privilege” in an elaborate prisoner incentive scheme was the sort of error that a bureaucracy can make from time to time. Nobody perhaps realised, or cared, that making books harder to obtain was contrary to the government’s own project of promoting literacy among prisoners. No government department is really “joined-up”. Read more
A couple of months ago I raised the issue of whether police in the UK were using the Regulation of Investigatory Powers Act (RIPA) to obtain information which is legally privileged.
Legal privilege is important. In simple terms it means that your dealings with your lawyer are strictly confidential, both in respect of the content of the advice you are given (“legal professional privilege”) and also anything done to assist you in preparing a claim or a defence (“litigation privilege”). In essence, when information is under legal privilege then no court order can oblige you to disclose it to the court or other party, including the police.
It seemed obvious to me that there must be some possibility that police could be using RIPA to obtain information which would be covered by legal privilege. There are about half a million public authority requests for “communications data” every year (that is, information public authorities can get from a telecoms or internet service provider other than the actual content of your communication). Also it is now known that the Metropolitan Police have used RIPA to obtain details of calls made and received by journalists. So, if the police are using RIPA to circumvent the usual protection given to journalists’ sources, there seemed no reason, in principle, why the police would not use the same means to get information which would otherwise be legally privileged.
But what was lacking was evidence: to say something could be happening is not the same as saying that it is happening. Read more
The news that the UK’s Metropolitan Police had obtained the “telecommunications data” of a journalist so as to identify his confidential source has significant implications for criminal and civil lawyers — and also for their clients.
What the Met did was simple: they merely completed a request form under the Regulation of Investigatory Powers Act 2000 (RIPA) and sent it to the journalist’s mobile telephone service provider. As long as the RIPA request is approved by the appropriate senior police officer, the telephone company provides the requested information by return. This information is not the actual content of a call or voicemail — that would (or should) require an intercept warrant — but all the accompanying “metadata” (a list of calls to and from the mobile, their duration and times, and even the geographic location of the mobile during the call) as well as subscriber information.
For the police, asking for this telecommunications data is routine. Every year the police and other public authorities make about half a million RIPA requests. None of these requests need a warrant, and none need consent. Indeed, the subscriber is not even told the request has been made. All this information is provided silently and easily to the police force or other public body making the request. There are no real safeguards against abuse.
So, if the police can casually use RIPA to obtain the telecommunications data of the political editor of the Sun newspaper, is there any limit on who else they would seek this data on? And even if there was such a limit, how would anyone know that it was not being respected? Read more
Last weekend the Sunday Mirror reported, almost in passing, that Chris Grayling may be sacked from the UK cabinet:
So Justice Secretary Chris Grayling is expected to get the chop and be replaced by Northern Ireland Secretary Theresa Villiers.
This would be welcome news. Mr Grayling has not been a success as justice secretary and lord chancellor, in respect of either policy making or political leadership. Indeed, it is difficult to imagine a worse ministerial performance. Read more
Earlier this month, a UK government department told senior judges something rather extraordinary: that the department was resorting to an “emergency measure”.
But this was not the Home Office dealing with the aftermath of widespread riots, or the Department for Food, Environment and Rural Affairs coping with sudden flooding of villages and towns. Read more
A fortnight ago the UK government had a disaster in a London criminal court.
It was a disaster which had been one year in the making – and one which was widely predicted. And it was a disaster the impact of which will become even more serious – unless government policy now changes.
In essence, the calamity was that a prosecution for complex fraud – the Operation Cotton case – was stayed (that is, terminated) by a judge on the application of the defendants. This was, of course, unwelcome in itself: it meant alleged fraudsters could walk free without trial. Read more
Lady Justice does not always have her eyes covered: for example, contrary to popular belief, she does not wear a blindfold on top of the Old Bailey.
Sometimes she is depicted by artists as being blindfolded, and sometimes she is not. (Perhaps wisely, those statues and paintings which have Lady Justice blindfolded tend to have her with the sword safely lowered; and whether someone brandishing a sword whilst wearing a blindfold is an appropriate image for any system of justice is a matter of opinion.) But there is no consensus among painters and sculptors as to whether Lady Justice should be wearing a blindfold or not.
There is similar inconsistency in what parts of the justice system we are allowed to see, as members of the public or even as jurors or parties to a claim or prosecution. Some parts of our legal process are open, whilst other aspects are hidden from our view. This is because there is no general principle of open justice in the jurisdiction of England and Wales: it is often a game of pass the blindfold as any court case continues. Read more
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