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Free expression is not the only principle at stake in the Thiel case, writes David Allen Green 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
During the recent controversy about John Whittingdale, his private life and his relationship with the press, one statutory provision was often mentioned.
This is “section 40″ and the contention was that the secretary of state for culture, media and sport was acting wrongly in not bringing it into force.
It was further argued that the reason for this failure could be attributed to the hold that the tabloid media had over him. Section 40 of the Courts and Crime Act 2013 is, it would appear, to be of fundamental importance in the debate about press regulation.
Some assert that it would be lethal to press freedom in general and to investigative journalism in particular. Others say it would be a valuable cornerstone in a regulatory system for a free and vibrant but accountable press.
Never has a statutory provision, which is yet to be implemented, had so much riding on it.
On the narrow issue of this provision, as on the wider one of press regulation, good and experienced people — who worked alongside each other on libel reform, for example — disagree starkly. There is anger and derision in their debates on social media. One gets the sense that wise individuals should never discuss the regulation of the press, and that they should talk of less controversial topics such as religion or politics instead.
So what exactly is this section 40 about? Why does it matter to so many people who are concerned with press freedom and media standards? And what would it mean in practice, if and when it is finally put into effect?
Two news stories about privacy have dominated the London-based media for the last week or so. The first is about the private lives of an (as yet) anonymous celebrity couple and the second is about the private life of a cabinet minister.
In neither case are the material facts of any great importance: the politician is single and had a relationship with another single person, and the celebrity couple have an open marriage and one of them had a relationship with another married couple. The allegations are entirely about consensual relationships between consenting adults. But in both cases there is serious — and sometimes heated — debate about the public interest and the extent to which the press can or should intrude into the private lives of others.
The preoccupation about these two stories is telling about the priorities and concerns of the London media. Even though the ultimate details in each case are trivial, both cases are discussed as if they engage first principles.
The UK government on Wednesday published a draft Investigatory Powers Bill for public and parliamentary consideration. It was a significant move in many ways.
The intention is that the draft Bill will be the basis of consultation, with a revised Bill being published in 2016. This revised Bill will need to be enacted by the end of next year, as the current Data Retention and Investigatory Powers Act expires on 31 December 2016 and one section of it has been quashed by the High Court as from March 2016.
Publication is therefore the start of what may be a year-long legislative process. On the face of it, the government intends to take the legislative process seriously. The Bill has been published with extensive explanatory materials, fact sheets and impact assessments. The page count of those documents is higher than that of the bill itself — the government wishes to give the impression this process is to be done properly and thoroughly. Read more
This week the Home Office will be launching the new Investigatory Powers Bill. It had previously sought to obtain these powers under the “Snoopers’ Charter” proposals in the last parliament but it failed.
This time the government is sensibly not relying on the brute strength of parliamentary votes or the standard “FUD” tactic of promoting fear, uncertainty and doubt. Such methods of stealth and FUDery may not be sufficient, so something more is needed to get the Bill over the bumps of this first week or two. The Home Office wants your heads to nod along too.
Many people say that the problem with politics is that there is too much cynicism. The problem with UK politics, however, is not that people are too cynical but that they are too gullible. Our politics is beset and bedeviled by the phenomenon of mass nodding along. Just get the catchphrases correct, and you will get all the audience applause you need. The trick is saying the right things at the right time. 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 UK’s Metropolitan Police obtained the “telecommunications data” of the political editor of the Sun. They did this without his consent, and possibly even without his knowledge. They also did this without any warrant or other court order. And this intrusion has caused a media sensation.
The revelation was buried in the “Operation Alice” report of the Metropolitan Police into the so-called “Plebgate” affair about what was said (and not said) by the then chief whip of the government, Andrew Mitchell, at the gates of Downing Street in September 2012. This incident led to a senior ministerial resignation, and to four police officers losing their jobs with one also being prosecuted. There are accusations and counter-accusations, and an ongoing libel case. The published report set out part of the Metropolitan Police’s own investigation; on whether Mr Mitchell called the police “plebs” the report is inconclusive.
But deep in the report, comprising paragraph 5.120, is this short and, for many, worrying sentence:
The telecommunications data in respect of Tom Newton Dunn was applied for and evidenced.
What the Metropolitan Police appear to have done was to issue a “RIPA request” (under the Regulation of Investigatory Powers Act 2000) to Mr Newton Dunn’s mobile telephone company for “telecommunications data”. This is not the same as obtaining “intercept” evidence of live calls and voicemails – that would need a warrant. Instead the request would have been for the accompanying data which would be held by the telecommunications provider: the relevant numbers and other details of incoming and outgoing calls, their duration, their times — even the geographical location of the mobile telephone when the calls were received or made. As one can imagine, with this amount of data, obtaining an intercept of the actual content of the calls becomes less important. Read more
Yesterday, in response to the sharing on the internet of horrific and sickening footage of the apparent execution of journalist James Foley, the UK’s Metropolitan Police Service (MPS) provided the following statement to news reporters:
The MPS Counter Terrorism Command (SO15) is investigating the contents of the video that was posted online in relation to the alleged murder of James Foley.
We would like to remind the public that viewing, downloading or disseminating extremist material within the UK may constitute an offence under terrorism legislation.
What was eye-catching about this statement was that “viewing” the material could, by itself, be a criminal offence under “terrorism legislation”. By the time the statement was issued, thousands of people had viewed the video. Was the MPS really saying that each UK viewer faced, at least in principle, a conviction under terrorism law for doing so? Read more
An ape takes a selfie: but who owns the copyright in the photograph?
This question is in the news because of a decision contained in the recent Wikimedia Foundation Transparency Report:
A photographer left his camera unattended in a national park in North Sulawesi, Indonesia.
The pictures were featured in an online newspaper article and eventually posted to Commons.
We received a takedown request from the photographer, claiming that he owned the copyright to the photographs.
We didn’t agree, so we denied the request.
A number of people in England are, it seems, now routinely searching bins for discarded food so that they and others can eat.
And if this was not sufficiently concerning, the state appears to be seeking to criminalise these people for doing so. 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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