For the notebook ...

One never knows when the following recent decisions of the High Court of Australia and of the Supreme Court of Canada may be useful:

Judges and witnesses

For some observations on how a prosecutor's decision not to call a witness may be dealt with by the judge at trial, see Diehm v Director of Public Prosecutions (Nauru) [2013] HCA 42 (30 October 2013) at [63]-[65], and on when a judge may call a witness, at [74].

These dicta may be useful in interpreting statutory powers that are not elaborated, for example s 113(3) of the Criminal Procedure Act 2011 [NZ].

Provocation

And for discussion of the partial defence of provocation in Canada, see R v Cairney, 2013 SCC 55 (25 October 2013), on the requirement for there to be an air of reality to the defence before it has to be considered, and R v Pappas, 2013 SCC 56 (25 October 2013) where although there was an air of reality to the objective element of the defence (that the conduct was capable of being provocative), there was not in respect of the subjective element (that it deprived the defendant of self-control).

Repeal of provocation as a partial defence has resulted in cases on provocation being of limited interest in some jurisdictions. However, provocation remains a mitigating factor, and a relevant question may be whether it has the same elements in that role as it had as a partial defence.

Oyez!

Of peripheral interest to criminal lawyers are a couple of recent decisions of the United Kingdom Supreme Court.

Prisoners and voting rights

Chester, R (on the application of) v Secretary of State for Justice [2013] UKSC 63 (16 October 2013) illustrates how an issue that should be resolved in favour of the applicant may not require a remedy. Previous decisions [18] of the ECtHR, including an appeal from the United Kingdom, had held that denying prisoners the right to vote is a breach of the Convention. The UK legislature is looking at this [19], and the Supreme Court therefore did not see that a declaration of incompatibility was necessary on the appeals in this case.

The relationship between national courts and the Strasbourg court was considered [27], and the Supreme Court rejected the respondent's submission that the difference here was over "some fundamental substantive or procedural aspect of our law" sufficient to justify departure from Strasbourg jurisprudence.

Indeed, the issue of removing prisoners' voting rights was [35] not "fundamental to a stable democracy and legal system such as the United Kingdom enjoys."

Ah yes, thank you Joni Mitchell ...

"Don't it always seem to go

That you don't know what you've got

Till it's gone

They paved paradise

And put up a parking lot"

That is, is the moral value of having the right to vote equivalent to the value of not having the right to vote?

It is difficult to stir up much public discussion about whether prisoners should be deprived of the right to vote. In New Zealand the Electoral Act was recently amended to further strengthen existing restrictions on prisoners' voting rights, so that now anyone detained in prison pursuant to a sentence of imprisonment imposed after 16 December 2010 does not have the right to vote. For an outline of the reasons this might not be appropriate, see the Report of the Law and Order Committee on the Electoral (Disqualification of Convicted Prisoners) Amendment Bill, particularly the New Zealand Labour Party minority view.

Update: The High Court, in Taylor v Attorney-General [2015] NZHC 1706 (24 July 2015) has declared that:

“Section 80(1)(d) of the Electoral Act 1993 (as amended by the Electoral (Disqualification of Sentenced Prisoners) Amendment Act 2010) is inconsistent with the right to vote affirmed and guaranteed in s 12(a) of the New Zealand Bill of Rights Act 1990, and cannot be justified under s 5 of that Act.”

Further update: On 9 November 2018 the Supreme Court confirmed the existence of the High Court's power to make a declaration of inconsistency with the New Zealand Bill of Rights Act 1990, and has dismissed the Attorney-General's argument to the contrary: Attorney-General v Taylor [2018] NZSC 104.

Another further update: On 25 February 2020 the government introduced a Bill to give prisoners serving less than three years' imprisonment the right to vote.

Oral hearings

Sometimes judicial decisions may be made "on the papers" filed by the parties, without the need for an oral hearing of argument. In Osborn v The Parole Board [2013] UKSC 61 (9 October 2013) the Supreme Court considered when an oral hearing would be required by common law procedural fairness.

The Court's press summary sets out the essential points, and they are also summarised in the judgment at [2].

See also R v Parole Board, ex parte Smith and West [2005] UKHL 1 (27 January 2005), discussed here on 31 January 2005 and see para [14] of Osborne for administrative developments, R (on application of Hammond) v Secretary of State for the Home Department [2005] UKHL 69 (1 December 2005), discussed here on 5 December 2005, and Ebanks v R (Cayman Islands) [2006] UKPC 16 (27 March 2006), discussed here on 28 March 2006.

Significantly, the tribunal must "guard against any temptation to refuse oral hearings as a means of saving time, trouble and expense" [2(viii)].

Appellate judges who have the power to deal on the papers with applications for leave to appeal will, no doubt, not need to be reminded of these considerations.

Unnecessarily attacking the fundamentals

Even the most robust of the fundamentals of the criminal law can be modified by statute. When that happens, the fundamental should retain its strength in all cases to which the statutory modification does not apply.

But sometimes a statute is not explicit on whether it modifies a fundamental of the criminal law, while its purpose seems to require such a modification. If a court accepts that this sort of statute does indeed modify a fundamental of the criminal law, there is a danger that it will support its conclusion by pointing to weaknesses in the fundamental. Those weaknesses may later be used in support of interpretations of other statutes to override the now weakened fundamental.

To bring these considerations into focus, consider Lee v New South Wales Crime Commission [2013] HCA 39 (9 October 2013). The relevant fundamental of the criminal law was the principle that the prosecution must discharge the onus of proof and cannot compel the defendant to give evidence to help discharge that onus: [176] per Kiefel J dissenting.

Lee concerns the civil procedure, under the Criminal Assets Recovery Act 1990 (NSW) (the "CAR Act") of compulsory examination of a person to establish whether assets were probably obtained through serious crime. The examinee was also subject to criminal proceedings, and this gave rise to the issue whether the examination should be delayed until the trial had been concluded, so as not to give the prosecution an unfair advantage.

This sort of issue has arisen before: X7 v Australian Crime Commission [2013] HCA 29 (26 June 2013), discussed here on 27 June 2013. In that case the conclusion reached by the majority (Hayne, Bell and Kiefel JJ) was the opposite of that reached by the majority in Lee (French CJ, Crennan, Gageler and Keane JJ). The new players are Gageler and Keane JJ, who delivered a joint judgment in Lee).

A focus on the judgment of Gageler and Keane JJ should therefore reveal the points that carried the day in Lee. The appellants' argument, as refocused in oral submissions, is summarised at [304]-[305]. The inherent prejudice in allowing an examination while criminal charges are pending is, according to this analysis [305]:

" ... the answers given and documents produced by the person in the examination would inevitably constrain the instructions on which the legal representatives of the person could act in the criminal proceedings: the legal representatives would be ethically bound not to lead evidence or cross-examine or make submissions to suggest a version of the facts which contradicted that given by their client on oath in the examination."

The assumption here is that the legal advisers know what the examinee had said during the examination. Normally, a client does not give instructions on oath, and a client's prior statements are not given on oath. A difficulty would only arise if answers given on oath at examination became admissible against the examinee as defendant at trial. So the constraint on instructions referred to at [305] can be avoided if answers at examination are not disclosed to the legal representative in the criminal proceedings, and if those answers are not admissible to rebut the defendant's defence at trial.

However instead of adopting this sort of harm-containment approach, Gageler and Keane JJ took a swipe at the principle of construction (that the legislature does not intend to alter the law beyond the immediate scope and object of a statute [308]) that fundamental rights are not altered by a statute unless that is expressly done. They adopted Gleeson CJ's view that in modern times the strength of that principle will vary with context [312]. But it is not necessary to qualify the strength of this principle of construction, to make the point that the clear intention of a statute may be to alter fundamental rights.

In addition to weakening the principle of construction, Gageler and Keane JJ weakened the fundamental principle of the criminal law that a defendant cannot be compelled by process of law to admit the offence, by saying it is "not monolithic: it is neither singular nor immutable" [318]. Some statutory inroads on the right to silence do not mean that the right is weakened where it does apply. It was unnecessary for the judges to suggest this weakening.

The more conventional part of this judgment addresses directly the interpretation of the CAR Act [326]-[335] and reaches the, no doubt sound, conclusion that [335]:

"The power conferred by s 31D(1)(a) does not authorise the making or implementation of an examination order where to do so would give rise to a real risk of interference with the administration of justice including by interfering with the right of the person to be examined (or any other person) to a fair trial. For reasons already given, however, the making of such an order does not give rise to a real risk of interference with the administration of justice by reason only that the subject-matter of the examination will overlap with the subject-matter of criminal proceedings that have commenced but that have not been completed."

And importantly, as to the way the discretion to order an examination should be exercised, [337]:

"The reasons for judgment of the Court of Appeal do not suggest that the CAR Act indicates a legislative intention that the Supreme Court should allow any proceedings under that Act to proceed if the circumstances of the case, other than the mere pendency of criminal proceedings against the examinee, were such as to reveal a real, as opposed to a speculative or theoretical, risk that the administration of justice would be adversely affected. The exigencies of criminal proceedings might well afford a ground for a refusal to make an order under s 31D(1)(a). For example, the timing of an application may be such as to prejudice the fair trial of a criminal charge because of the likely disruption of the preparation for, or conduct of, a trial which is imminent. As Beazley JA specifically noted [606], that possibility was not raised before the Court of Appeal as a consideration having a claim upon the discretion in the circumstances of this case. Had it been raised, it would obviously be a consideration which might properly be taken into account in exercising the discretion."

This conclusion could have been reached without suggesting that the rule of construction or the right to silence are in any general sense weakened these days. Lee required merely a conventional exercise in statutory interpretation.

A similar position exists under comparable New Zealand legislation: Criminal Proceeds (Recovery) Act 2009, s 107. In each case a careful analysis has to be made of the matters which the Commissioner wishes to examine the defendant about, and the likely impact of answering those matters on the subsequent criminal trial: Commissioner of Police v Wei [2012] NZCA 279 at [40].

Fresh evidence

Fresh evidence was a central topic in two decisions delivered within hours on opposite sides of the planet yesterday.

In refusing leave to appeal against sentence, the New Zealand Supreme Court addressed a submission that the applicant's cooperation with the authorities was a new fact relevant to penalty: Bland v R [2013] NZSC 93 (7 October 2013). The fact could have been used in submissions to the Court of Appeal, but was not, but after that appeal Mr Bland did give assistance to the authorities. He then asked the Court of Appeal to recall its dismissal of his sentence appeal so that this new fact could be considered. The Court of Appeal dismissed that application.

The Supreme Court said [6(a)]: "This Court does not usually entertain criminal appeals on grounds that, although available, were not raised before the Court of Appeal", citing Mankelow v R [2007] NZSC 57 at [2].

These Supreme Court decisions are dismissals of applications for leave to appeal and are not required to be given in detail: "The reasons may be stated briefly, and may be stated in general terms only": s 16(2) Supreme Court Act 2003.

The risk with these brief reasons is that they may be cited as if they were precedents, as with Mankelow, so that matters of policy are wrongly treated as legal rules. And legal rules may be stated inaccurately, in the effort to be brief, and this creates a risk of misapplication of the law in subsequent cases. This is illustrated in Bland at [6(b)], where the Court diminished the value of Mr Bland's assistance to the authorities, on the basis that it was "self-serving rather than motivated by a genuine desire to cooperate".

Motive for the giving of assistance has never been relevant. Motives for mitigating actions seldom are: for example, credit for early guilty pleas is given without asking whether they were motivated by remorse, and remorse has its own status as an independent mitigating factor: s 9(2)(f) of the Sentencing Act 2002. In R v Stark [2006] NZCA 190 the Court said at [10]:

" ... It is necessary to weigh the assistance given with the type and seriousness of the offending, the sentence that otherwise would be appropriate, the nature and value of the assistance, the situations in which it is given and the consequences. In the end the sentence must be that which is appropriate in light of all of the circumstances including any assistance to the authorities."

There is no mention of the motivation for the assistance in those considerations. Assistance has its own weight, and remorse may be an additional circumstance but its absence should not disentitle an offender from advancing assistance as a mitigating factor.

Still, the Court's real reason for refusing leave seems to be that Mr Bland's assistance to the authorities was of no particular consequence in the prosecution of co-offenders [6(c)]. Any appropriate sentence reduction would have been minimal and the sentence that was imposed was not outside the range of sentences available to the judge. There was not, therefore, a "substantial miscarriage of justice", which is one of the ways a case may come within the qualifying requirement that it should be in "the interests of justice" for the appeal to be heard: Supreme Court Act, s 13(2)(b). The phrase "substantial miscarriage of justice" is not defined.

Several hours later, in London, the Privy Council in Lundy v The Queen (New Zealand) [2013] UKPC 28 (7 October 2013) ordered a retrial because new evidence suggested that the appellant's convictions were unsafe [151], [164].

It is inappropriate for me to say much about this case, pending a retrial. However of legal interest is the Board's clarification of the requirements for the allowing of appeals against convictions on the basis of fresh evidence. There are three tests, to be applied in sequence [120]:

"The Board considers that the proper basis on which admission of fresh evidence should be decided is by the application of a sequential series of tests. If the evidence is not credible, it should not be admitted. If it is credible, the question then arises whether it is fresh in the sense that it is evidence which could not have been obtained for the trial with reasonable diligence. If the evidence is both credible and fresh, it should generally be admitted unless the court is satisfied at that stage that, if admitted, it would have no effect on the safety of the conviction. If the evidence is credible but not fresh, the court should assess its strength and its potential impact on the safety of the conviction. If it considers that there is a risk of a miscarriage of justice if the evidence is excluded, it should be admitted, notwithstanding that the evidence is not fresh."

Here, "a risk of a miscarriage of justice" refers to the safety of the conviction.

Lundy was an appeal under what we can now call the old law. Now, the criteria for allowing an appeal against conviction are enacted in the Criminal Procedure Act 2011 ("CPA"), s 232. They do not specifically refer to fresh evidence. Cases of fresh evidence must therefore come within the phrase "miscarriage of justice", which is defined in subsection (4) as:

"... miscarriage of justice means any error, irregularity, or occurrence in or in relation to or affecting the trial that—

(a) has created a real risk that the outcome of the trial was affected; or

(b) has resulted in an unfair trial or a trial that was a nullity."

The obtaining of new evidence can hardly be called an error or irregularity, but it may be "an occurrence ... affecting the trial". It might, also at a pinch, be put within the meaning of "an unfair trial" in the sense that the trial that happened involved assessments of the weight of items of evidence that have since been shown to have been inappropriate. The trial, although it seemed to have been fair when it was conducted, is now shown to have been unfair.

These ways of including cases of fresh evidence within the grounds for allowing appeals against conviction are a bit forced, and one might say that it was a legislative oversight to omit specific reference to fresh evidence in s 232. Certainly, the CPA does permit an appellate court to hear evidence (ss 334 and 335), and the Criminal Procedure Rules 2012 make provision for adducing fresh evidence: r 8.8, in terms which make it clear that miscarriage of justice encompasses fresh evidence.

The Board did not say that the trial had been unfair. It was not considering s 232, and Lundy should not be applied as if it were authoritative on the meaning of that section, but it would not be inconsistent to say that the better interpretation is that fresh evidence is an occurrence in relation to the trial.

But there is good reason to conclude that a substantively fair trial is one where the evidence is weighed properly, and that retrospective appreciation of unfairness in the light of fresh evidence is grounds under s 232 for allowing an appeal against conviction.

There are two more interesting aspects of Lundy that I can mention.

First, the Privy Council seized jurisdiction – without creating a precedent – just in the interests of being sensible [11]. Strictly, it is a breach of the rule of law for a court to do something and say it is not creating a precedent: compare John Gardner, Law as a Leap of Faith (OUP, Oxford, 2012) at 210 (reviewed by me here on 6 July 2013).

Secondly, the Board ordered a retrial rather than remit the case to the Court of Appeal. There is nothing particularly unusual in doing that, but the difficulties that have been experienced when appeal judges attempt to reach verdicts perhaps suggest that the Board considers that the approach recently favoured – under what is now the old law – by the New Zealand Supreme Court in Matenga v R [2009] NZSC 18, discussed here on 9 July 2009, is inappropriate. It is likely that under the new law (s 232) – see the digression by me on 19 August 2013 – the Matenga approach will not apply. Unfortunately however, the Board endorsed what it took to be the Matenga approach: [143]-[151].

On this topic the Board appears to be glossing over difficulties. How does an appeal court decide whether a conviction is safe? Does it (1) decide for itself whether there is a reasonable doubt about the appellant's guilt? Does it (2) decide what a jury would have concluded had the error at trial not occurred? Does it (3) do a bit of each – deciding for itself until it gets stuck, in which event asks what a jury would have done? These have all been tried at various times. Delivering the judgment of the Board, Lord Kerr endorsed [146] his own judgment, dissenting on the facts, in Taylor v R [2013] UKPC 8 (discussed here on 19 March 2013) taking the third (called the Pendleton) approach, but which was put by the majority in Taylor [20] as one of asking whether the jury might reasonably have come to a different conclusion as to whether the appellant was guilty; this, confusingly, looks like the second approach.

My own view is that this is rather silly. The focus in these sorts of appeals should always have been on whether the error at trial could have significantly affected the weight given to contested evidence on an issue central to the logic of the prosecution case. Under the new law, s 232(4)(a) is consistent with this, using the phrase "a real risk that the outcome of the trial was affected". Unfortunately, it is arguable that this phrase is also consistent with the other approaches, and it would be sad – so sad – if Lundy were taken to be an endorsement of the survival of Matenga in the new statutory environment.

Reasonable grounds to suspect

Now that we have search on "reasonable grounds to suspect" the commission of an offence, a lesser threshold than the reasonable belief that had previously been required – and that had been replaced by stealth – it is relevant to consider the definition of reasonable suspicion developed and applied by the Supreme Court of Canada: R v Chehil, 2013 SCC 49 (27 September 2013) and R v MacKenzie, 2013 SCC 50 (27 September 2013).

There is no substitute for reading the judgments, but the essentials, set out in Chehil, are:

• The central question is: Is the totality of the circumstances, including the specific characteristics of the suspect, the contextual factors, and the offence suspected, sufficient to reach the threshold of reasonable suspicion? [39]
• "Suspicion" is an expectation that the targeted individual is possibly engaged in some criminal activity. A "reasonable" suspicion means something more than a mere suspicion and something less than a belief based upon reasonable and probable grounds. [26, citing Binnie J in R v Kang-Brown, a case discussed here on 28 April 2008]
• Reasonable suspicion is a lower standard than reasonable belief, as it engages the reasonable possibility, rather than probability, of crime. As a result, when applying the reasonable suspicion standard, reviewing judges must be cautious not to conflate it with the more demanding reasonable and probable grounds standard. [28]
• The reasonable suspicion standard addresses the possibility of uncovering criminality, and not a probability of doing so. [32]
• The constellation of facts must be based in the evidence, tied to the individual, and capable of supporting a logical inference of criminal behaviour. If the link between the constellation and criminality cannot be established by way of a logical inference, the Crown must lead evidence to connect the circumstances to criminality. This evidence may be empirical or statistical, or it may be based upon the investigating officer's training and experience. [46]
• An officer's training and experience may provide an objective experiential, as opposed to empirical, basis for grounding reasonable suspicion. However, this is not to say that hunches or intuition grounded in an officer's experience will suffice, or that deference is owed to a police officer's view of the circumstances based on his training or experience in the field. A police officer's educated guess must not supplant the rigorous and independent scrutiny demanded by the reasonable suspicion standard.[47]
• While a trial judge is owed deference in relation to his factual findings, whether those factual findings support reasonable suspicion is a question of law, and as such is reviewable on the correctness standard. [60]

And, applying these principles in MacKenzie, the Court emphasised:

• In assessing whether a case for reasonable suspicion has been made out, the analysis of objective reasonableness should be conducted through the lens of a reasonable person standing in the shoes of the police officer. [63]
• The hallmark of reasonable suspicion, as distinguished from mere suspicion, is that "a sincerely held subjective belief is insufficient" to support the former (Kang-Brown, at para. 75, per Binnie J., citing P. Sankoff and S. Perrault, "Suspicious Searches: What's so Reasonable About Them?" (1999), 24 C.R. (5th) 123, at p. 125). Rather, as Karakatsanis J. observes in Chehil [26], reasonable suspicion must be grounded in "objectively discernible facts, which can then be subjected to independent judicial scrutiny". [41]
• Exculpatory, common, neutral, or equivocal information should not be discarded when assessing a constellation of factors. However, the test for reasonable suspicion will not be stymied when the factors which give rise to it are supportive of an innocent explanation. We are looking here at possibilities, not probabilities. Are the facts objectively indicative of the possibility of criminal behaviour in light of the totality of the circumstances? If so, the objective component of the test will have been met. If not, the inquiry is at an end. [72]

Giving "reasonable suspicion" as precise a definition as is possible runs counter to a suggestion that the statutory scheme requiring reasonable grounds to suspect the commission of a qualifying offence and reasonable grounds to believe that evidence will be found in the search creates "a regime of relativity: the differentiation simply means that above a minimum floor, more is required in relation to the location of evidence at the target place than in relation to the commission of a crime … [with] a moderated and relativistic interpretation of the thresholds."

Chehil also discusses the use of profiles [39], rejecting it as a basis for suspicion. Here the judicial reasoning is perhaps politically correct, if too subtle, if profiles are based on experience.

MacKenzie mentions facts such as nervousness, red eyes, and erratic driving. The Court split 5-4 on the facts in this case, perhaps illustrating how, notwithstanding the utmost care in being clear about the criterion of reasonable suspicion, its application to particular facts can be controversial.

The difficulties are apparent from this extract from my Misuse of Drugs text, para 1406(a) (citing cases not available online):

For an illustration of analysis of testimony asserting indicia of drug use, see R v Herlund 28/5/08, Duffy J, HC Auckland CRI-2006-004-21413. Here, a suspect's nervousness in police presence lacked significance when it was explained by his being on active charges concerning drug dealing (at [81]), and her Honour emphasised that it is necessary to tie grounds for search to the present occasion, so as to avoid subjecting suspicious looking people, or those known to have drug histories, to a lower standard for search (at [83], applying R v Anderson [2005] 21 CRNZ 393 at [33]). This is not to say that police knowledge that a suspect has active drugs related charges is to be ignored, for in the same case Duffy J held that such knowledge, coupled with the suspect's withdrawal of his consent to a search — upon the discovery of a P pipe in his pocket — did provide proper grounds for a further search: at [58]. This withdrawal of consent was likened to Mr Carroll's [R v Carroll 21/5/04, Rodney Hansen J, HC Auckland CRI–2003-004-41192] effort to conceal the cigarette packet: at [61].

But assertion of rights is not properly a basis for reasonable suspicion, as was stated in Chehil at [44]:

"Nor should the exercise of Charter rights, such as the right to remain silent or to walk away from questioning made outside the context of a detention, provide grounds for reasonable suspicion. These rights become meaningless to the extent that they are capable of forming the basis of reasonable suspicion. Individuals should not have to sacrifice privacy to exercise Charter rights."

[Update:] As this is an oft-visited posting, I should add that the Canadian definition of belief is not universally accepted. Instead of being a high level of confidence, it can be defined as thinking something is the case. If you are thinking of what belief means, without looking for a distinction from suspicion, then indeed you might think that a belief is a high level of confidence in something. But once you have to distinguish between belief and suspicion it usually makes more sense to apply the "suspect ... may, believe ... is" construction. That will be so unless an enactment itself has a "believe ... may" usage, in which case believe must mean thinking something is highly likely. The terms must always be construed in their context, subject to enacted definitions, if there are any. The "suspect ... may, believe ... is" interpretation makes for law that is more readily predictable in its application, than saying belief is a high level of likelihood, and it works against an arbitrary application of the law.

Ethnicity, deprivation, and manifest inadequacy of sentence

In the absence of legislation requiring special consideration at sentencing for the ethnicity of the offender, the relevance of social deprivation is the same for all offenders: Bugmy v The Queen [2013] HCA 37 (2 October 2013) at [37].

Where an offender's abuse of alcohol is relevant to the commission of the offence and is a reflection of the environment in which the offender was raised, it may be taken into account as a mitigating factor [38], as also it may be if the offender's background would make imprisonment particularly burdensome [39]. This is because all material facts must be taken into account in all sentencing decisions.

However the weight to be given to circumstances arising from deprivation may vary according to the purpose of punishment that is being considered at each stage of the exercise of determining the appropriate sentence [44]. Sentence reduction arising from circumstances of deprivation, like that arising from mental illness, is not inevitable [47].

A court of final appeal is not a sentencing court, and if it identifies an error in principle it is likely to remit the case for reconsideration by the appellate court that is responsible for oversight of sentencing decisions, cf [49] and see [60] of Munda, below.

Munda v Western Australia [2013] HCA 38 (2 October 2013) addresses the relevance of previous sentencing decisions in determining whether a present sentence is manifestly inadequate, referring at [39] to Hili v The Queen [2010] HCA 45 (discussed here on 10 December 2010), and holding that reference to comparable cases may be an indication of inadequacy but, because the demonstration of an existing range of sentences does not establish that that range is correct, it is not determinative. Also relevant are the maximum penalty and the seriousness of the particular offence. (Bell J dissented on whether the sentence here had been manifestly inadequate.)

Also in Munda the Court approved [43] the principle that "[it is wrong] to reduce the weight to be given to general deterrence in circumstances where alcohol-fuelled violence is endemic in the community generally, even if not sufficiently deterred in fact by the prospect of imprisonment" (quoting McLure P in the Court of Appeal in Munda).

The prospect of retribution being exacted in the community was raised and although the point didn't have to be decided in Munda the Court strongly hinted that this should be irrelevant [61]-[63], because vendettas must be discouraged, punishment is meted out by the state, and offenders should not be given a choice as to the mode of their punishment.

There is also some discussion in Mundy of the residual discretion of an appellate court to decline to increase a sentence that is manifestly inadequate, particularly to avoid double punishment or interference with rehabilitation, but subject to the need to avoid the manifest injustice of upholding an inadequate sentence [64]-[78].

Compulsion and willingness

I should add some comments to the summary of Akulue v R posted here on 19 September 2013.

Affirmative defences

Akulue concerns an affirmative defence. That is, a defence that is pleaded in answer to a proven allegation of actus reus and mens rea. The defendant in advancing an affirmative defence is saying, "Yes, if it is proved that I did the prohibited thing (or that I omitted to do what I had a legal duty to do) and that I had the proscribed state of mind, I am nevertheless not responsible because of these additional circumstances." Indeed, the defendant will almost always be conceding that he did the prohibited thing, or omitted to perform the obligation, with the proscribed state of mind.

And Akulue is about one affirmative defence: compulsion, a codified form of necessity. Another codified form of necessity is self-defence and defence of another. But in compulsion the threatener's objective is the commission of the offence in respect of which the defence is subsequently advanced:
R v Ryan, 2013 SCC 3 (noted here on 31 January 2013). The Supreme Court in Akulue was referring only to compulsion when it said [29] that the legislation is intended to "codify exclusively the circumstances in which compulsion by threats of harm from another person provides a defence, leaving only other circumstances of necessity to the common law." That is to say, necessity in the form of force of nature, act of god, or other overwhelming force not originating in another person, may be a defence, although the defendant will be expected to demonstrate fortitude (if anyone is not thinking about R v Dudley and Stephens, where a defence of necessity failed, they should go back to law school).

When threats negative mens rea

In contrast to affirmative defences are disputes about the existence of elements of an offence. A contention that specified circumstances cast doubt on the existence of an element of an offence, is not strictly speaking a "defence", although it is common to say that the person's defence was that he did not do a prohibited thing, or omit to do a legally required thing, or that he did not have a required state of mind. This usage of the term "defence" is just a convenient way of describing why a charge was denied.

Usually an intention, however reluctantly it may be entertained, is still an intention. Threats do not usually negative mens rea. Recklessness is also usually a sufficient state of mind for liability, and, however it may be defined, it is not negated by a hope that the proscribed consequences will not occur. But a few offences require more than intention.

Possession

There is some authority for the proposition that an element of the offence of possession of a controlled drug is a willingness to exercise control over that drug: R v McIntyre 9/3/79, CA94/77, Warner v Metropolitan Police Commissioner [1969] 2 AC 256; [1968] 2 All ER 356 (HL) per Lord Morris at pp 296, 375 referring to the need for the defendant to be "assenting" to being in control of the drug. This willingness is an additional element to that of animus possidendi, as an intention to exercise control is sometimes called. The intention must be willingly entertained.

Willingness to exercise control over a drug may be negated by threats of dire consequences for failure to do so, as was the position in McIntyre. There, the threats of physical harm would not have satisfied the requirements of the affirmative defence of compulsion, because they lacked immediacy, but the Court of Appeal held that they did negate the element of willingness, which it described as a "voluntary assumption of control" over the drug.

Does Akulue change this?

The offences alleged in Akulue – importing methamphetamine and conspiring to supply methamphetamine - were not offences of possession, and they did not, as far as is currently known, have elements of willingness to exercise a relevant power. A defendant can participate in an importation of a drug without ever having had possession of it, and a person can agree to commit an offence even if he is reluctant to enter that agreement. Usually, mere reluctance does not negate an element of an offence.

It is possible that the offence of permitting premises to be used for the commission of a drug offence is another offence that has an element of willingness. Does one "permit" unwillingly? A defendant must do what is reasonable to prevent the offending - R v Sweeney [1982] 2 NZLR 229 (CA) – but arguably, reasonableness will be judged in the context of circumstances that may have negated the defendant's willingness.

So, Akulue is about the affirmative defence of compulsion, not about those rare offences where willingness is an element of mens rea.

Must you? The statutory defence of compulsion.

The defence of compulsion may be thought of as a subset of the defence of necessity. The former is, in New Zealand, a statutory, and the latter a common law, defence. The former is an exclusive codification of the circumstances in which compulsion by threats of harm from another person provides a defence: Akulue v R [2013] NZSC 88 (19 September 2013) at [29].

The Supreme Court distinguished R v Ruzic 2001 SCC 24, in which the facts were similar to those contended for in Akulue, mainly by holding that moral involuntariness is not a principle of fundamental justice engaging the Bill of Rights [20]. Instead, moral involuntariness was properly taken into account in the statutory rules relating to coercion.

Mention was made [14] of R v Hasan [2005] UKHL 22, noted here on 18 March 2005. Lord Bingham's identification of policy reasons for tightening, rather than relaxing, the conditions to be met before common law duress could be relied on were noted [15].

The legislative purpose behind the statutory defence is that if there is sufficient time to seek assistance from the authorities, a defence of compulsion is not available, and a belief, whether reasonable or not, that no assistance would be forthcoming is not within the scope of the defence [23]. It was not for the court to extend the bounds of the statutory defence [26].

Now we are nine

 If you are wondering (and I know you aren't) how to observe this, the beginning of the tenth year of this site, you could:

Study the procedure that was used for the election of the doge of Venice, and ask whether the number of steps could be reduced while retaining the same level of protection against corruption. Is the answer this complex?

Read this article about Mr Obama's suggestion that a year be deducted from the law degree, and ask questions like: What is the purpose of law school? What is the purpose of university? What is education? What is the best way to work? When is the best time to gain financial independence? What is the best way to spend youth? What is leisure for? And add as many questions of that sort as you are afraid to answer.

Eyewitness identification warnings

Getting judges to obey the law on eyewitness identification

A rigorous application of statutory requirements for identification warnings is required in Fukofuka v R [2013] NZSC 77 (16 August 2013). The Court requires greater vigilance to prevent erroneous convictions that was apparent in some Court of Appeal decisions [28, footnotes 21-23], [39].

The governing statutory provision is s 126 of the Evidence Act 2006 (quoted at [13]). It replaces s 344D of the Crimes Act 1961 (quoted at [28]), and it expands the original requirement of a judicial warning that it should "include the reason for the warning" by requiring the judge to warn the jury "that a mistaken identification can result in a serious miscarriage of justice".

This, however, requires more than just a recitation of those statutory words. The legislation carries a "statutorily required level of scepticism as to identification evidence" [38]. So,

"[28] ... trial judges should ... explain that the reason for the warning was that miscarriages of justice resulting from mistaken identifications had been known to occur."

This reflects the observations in R v Turnbull [1977] QB 244 (CA) at 228, referred to in Fukofuka at [25]-[26].

Where a warning under s 126 is required, it "must" be given, and failure to comply will have adverse consequences [32].

A digression by me: criteria for determining appeals against conviction

At the time relevant to this appeal the criteria for determining appeals against conviction were set out in s 385(1) of the Crimes Act 1961, which was a traditional formulation of what one might call the proviso approach: if the appellate court found there had been a miscarriage of justice the appeal had to be allowed, provided that the appeal could be dismissed if the appellate court was satisfied that no substantial miscarriage of justice had actually occurred.

In Fukofuka the Court of Appeal had applied this incorrectly [23]-[24]. The correct method was to firstly ask whether the error could have affected the result of the trial. If it could have, it was a miscarriage of justice. Then, if it was, the second question arose: was the appellate court independently satisfied of the appellant's guilt? Only if it was, could the appeal against conviction be dismissed. This reasoning was required by R v Matenga [2009] NZSC 18, [2009] 3 NZLR 145 (discussed here on 9 July 2009, and again here on 20 July 2009).

The separation of these questions means that under s 385 there could have been a miscarriage of justice even if the appellant was obviously guilty. You do not answer the first question by going directly to the second.

From 1 July 2013 we have had new criteria for determining appeals against conviction: s 232 of the Criminal Procedure Act 2011. This is not structured with a proviso, and, among other grounds, the existence of a miscarriage of justice (as defined in subsection (4)) of itself requires an appeal to be allowed. Included in the definition of miscarriage of justice is any error in the trial that has created a real risk that the outcome of the trial was affected. (As to what real risk means, see Sarrazin, discussed here on 22 November 2011).

The question therefore arises, how does the court assess this "real risk"? Can it go straight to ask itself whether it is independently satisfied of the appellant's guilt, and if it is, conclude that the error at trial did not give rise to a real risk that the outcome was affected? Or must it treat the analysis as requiring two steps: first, ask whether the error might have created a real risk that the outcome of the trial was affected, and, if it might have, second, ask whether the court is independently satisfied of the appellant's guilt, and conclude that if it is, then the error could not have affected the result of the trial?

The latter suggestion requires an unwarranted reading-in to the legislation of "might have", whereas s 232(4)(a) goes straight to whether the error "has" created the real risk. So the question becomes whether the appellate court can assess the existence of a "real risk" by independently (that is, aside from the error) asking whether it is satisfied of the appellant's guilt.

That is certainly a possible interpretation of subsection (4)(a). It is consistent with convictions being quashed where appellants might reasonably possibly be innocent, or where, whether guilty or not, they had trials that were unfair or were nullities. But one should remember (1) why the proviso was abolished, (2) how difficult it can be for appellate courts to assess the strength of evidence (see also my discussion here on 16 November 2012), (3) the traditional practice of recognising risk of effect on result without the appellate court itself attempting to reach a verdict, and (4) the requirement of the rule of law that trials must be conducted according to law and not be dictated by what are thought to be facts. Those considerations support appellate courts refraining from determining guilt. Even so, it must be recognised that immaterial errors do not matter, and that is why the legislation requires there to be a real risk that the error affected the outcome of the trial.

But back to identification warnings: some issues

There is a possibility that not all defendants will be adequately funded at trial (shush ma sarcasm). Not all will be able to call expert evidence on the risks that can accompany eyewitness identification. Jurors are not allowed to research that for themselves. Should judges have a responsibility to keep up with research on the accuracy of eyewitness identification, and to pass information about that to juries? Or should they repeat expert evidence that may be on the record of trials in other cases? It is all very well to require judges to tell juries that there have been occasions when innocent people have been convicted because eyewitness identification was accepted when it shouldn't have been, but most people would know that. Should the Law Commission, which has looked into (in 1999, and as background to what is now s 126) the reliability of eyewitness identification, be asked to offer a standard direction that could helpfully elaborate s 126? The Commission had said in that background material (at [194]):

"Credible identification evidence is of particular importance to the criminal justice system. Research indicates that incorrect identifications are a major factor in miscarriages of justice. In its draft Evidence Code, the Law Commission has drawn upon the research discussed in this paper to develop a regime that will help to exclude unreliable identification evidence. In proceedings where the case against the defendant depends wholly or substantially on identification evidence, the judge will continue to warn the jury of the special need for caution before convicting on the basis of such evidence. Such procedural safeguards, and the use of expert witnesses where their evidence can provide substantial help to the jury, should help to ensure that identification evidence is both reliable and properly evaluated."

 

The Supreme Court has bolstered the Law Commission's – what some sarcastic people may say is a - rather limp reading of Turnbull, by strengthening s 126(2)(a).

Statutory interpretation, causation and responsibility for accidental death

Causation is the critical consideration in Hughes v R [2013] UKSC 56 (31 July 2013). The offences under analysis, punishable by imprisonment for up to two years, are causing death while driving without a licence, and without insurance, contrary to s 3ZB of the Road Traffic Act 1988:

"A person is guilty of an offence under this section if he causes the death of another person by driving a motor vehicle on a road and, at the time when he is driving, the circumstances are such that he is committing an offence under-

1. Section 87(1) of this Act (driving otherwise than in accordance with a licence); ...
   
2. Section 143 of this Act (using a motor vehicle while uninsured or unsecured against third party risks)."
   

The agreed facts were that all fault lay with the victim, and there was nothing objectionable about the appellant's driving other than his lack of an appropriate licence and his lack of insurance. A collision occurred when the victim's car crossed the centre line on a bend and struck the appellant's vehicle, and the victim subsequently died from injuries sustained in this accident. The victim had been driving erratically for some time before the accident, had been using heroin, and was overtired. The appellant could not have avoided the collision, but he was charged with the two offences created by these paragraphs of this section.

At first instance the Recorder ruled that causation had to be proved, and the Crown successfully appealed that ruling. The Court of Appeal followed its decision, delivered after the Recorder's ruling, in R v Williams [2010] EWCA Crim 2552; [2011] 1 WLR 588 in which it had held that the offences required simply that the defendant had no licence or insurance, that he was driving and had been involved in a fatal crash; there was no requirement of proof that the defendant had exhibited any fault contributing to the accident. The Supreme Court overturned this, holding:

"[36] ... it must follow from the use of the expression "causes…death…by driving" that section 3ZB requires at least some act or omission in the control of the car, which involves some element of fault, whether amounting to careless/inconsiderate driving or not, and which contributes in some more than minimal way to the death. It is not necessary that such act or omission be the principal cause of the death. In which circumstances the offence under section 3ZB will then add to the other offences of causing death by driving must remain to be worked out as factual scenarios are presented to the courts. In the present case the agreed facts are that there was nothing which Mr Hughes did in the manner of his driving which contributed in any way to the death. It follows that the Recorder of Newcastle was correct to rule that he had not in law caused the death by his driving. The appeal should be allowed and that ruling restored."

In Williams the Court of Appeal had reasoned that when s 3ZB was created, so too was s 2B, which is an offence of causing death by careless driving, so the offences against s 3ZB must involve less than carelessness, and indeed as a matter of statutory construction they did not require an element of fault. An analogy was drawn with R v Marsh [1997] 1 Cr.App.R. 67, in which it was sufficient that the defendant's driving was a cause of the accident which was an element of the offence of aggravated vehicle taking, created by 12(A)(1) of the Theft Act 1968. The focus in Williams was therefore on whether the defendant's driving had been a cause of the accident.

But in Hughes the Supreme Court reasoned that although the appellant's driving could be seen as a "but for" cause of the victim's death, in the sense that it set the scene for the accident, that did not resolve the question whether the appellant's driving was a legally effective cause of the death [24]-[25].

If Parliament had wanted to impose liability without causation, it could have done so by unambiguous language, however [26]:

"...A penal statute falls to be construed with a degree of strictness in favour of the accused. It is undoubtedly open to Parliament to legislate to create a harsh offence or penalty, just as it is open to it to take away fundamental rights, but it is not to be assumed to have done so unless that interpretation of its statute is compelled, and compelled by the language of the statute itself. The rule of construction which applies to penal legislation, and a fortiori to legislation which carries the penalty of imprisonment, is not identical to, but is somewhat analogous to, the principle of statutory interpretation known as the principle of legality."

The Court referred [27] to Lord Hoffmann's remarks on legality in R v Secretary of State for the Home Department Ex p Simms and O'Brien [2000] 2 AC 115, 131E, to the effect that in the absence of clear and unambiguous language there was too great a risk that Parliament may have not appreciated the implications of what it was legislating.

Therefore [28]:

"It follows that in order to give effect to the expression "causes…death…by driving" a defendant charged with the offence under section 3ZB must be shown to have done something other than simply putting his vehicle on the road so that it is there to be struck. It must be proved that there was something which he did or omitted to do by way of driving it which contributed in a more than minimal way to the death. The question therefore remains what can or cannot amount to such act or omission in the manner of driving."

Then, turning to what sort of driving might be sufficient to establish this causal connection, the Court at [29]-[31] declined to accept a suggestion, by Professors Sullivan and Simester in [2012] Criminal Law Review 754, that responsibility may attach without culpability, as for example where the defendant in the agony of the moment swerved the wrong way, or where he encountered an unexpected natural hazard such as ice. The difficulties with those suggestions became clear if one asked why a driver should be responsible for the death of a person who caused him to swerve but not for the death of some third and in other respects uninvolved person, or why a natural hazard should have different consequences from a manmade hazard.

No indeed [32], to avoid confusion and incoherence in the law, the Court held that under this section a defendant

" ... is guilty of causing death only when there is some additional feature of his driving which is causative on a common sense view and the latter entails there being something in the manner of his driving which is open to proper criticism. To give effect to the words "causes…death…by driving" there must be something more than "but for" causation. ... The statutory expression cannot, we conclude, be given effect unless there is something properly to be criticised in the driving of the defendant, which contributed in some more than minimal way to the death."

This still does not require negligence, and as an example of something less than negligence but sufficient to establish the causal link required by s 3ZB, the Court suggested [32] a driver who slightly exceeded the speed limit and as a result could not avoid the accident, or a driver who failed to discover a fault in his vehicle that would have been readily apparent such as an underinflated tyre or a tyre with insufficient tread. However the Court stressed that it was unwise to attempt to foresee every possible scenario, and that it remained to be seen whether the offences against s 3ZB (including a third offence, provided for by paragraph (b), involving driving whilst disqualified [18]) added much to the offence of causing death by careless driving.

The statutory language in Marsh, above, was different but there was still an open question about causation in that context that was not necessary to decide in this appeal [34].

I have previously discussed responsibility in the context of dangerous driving: R v Roy, 2012 SCC 26, on 15 June 2012, where actus reus and mens rea were the analytical tools used for determining dangerousness. That focus is different from the issue in Hughes, which is the causal element of responsibility.

Common law contempt by disobedience of an order for temporary suppression of a judgment

A non-publication order was issued by the High Court in respect of a pre-trial judgment on evidential issues. The order was made to protect the fairness of the forthcoming trial(s). A person, not involved in the proceedings but knowing of the order, published the judgment.

The person became an enthusiastic litigant, and it must be recognised that a result of this enthusiasm has been extensive judicial examination of the law of contempt.

I have mentioned here on 11 May 2012 the Court of Appeal decision in this litigation. But the Supreme Court had also looked at this litigant's efforts before, as I discussed here on 20 May 2010. So the finale last week from the Supreme Court is a monument to doggedness: Siemer v Solicitor-General [2013] NZSC 68.

At first glance you could hardly get a more obvious example of contempt of court. But the main issue was whether the court had an inherent power to suppress publication of a judgment. Another issue was who has standing at common law to apply for variation or rescission of a suppression order?

I only give a broad indication of what was decided here, in the interests of brevity. As always, the law is in the case, not in what I say.

Fair trial rights were held to dominate freedom of expression, so that if publication would compromise a fair trial, publication would have to yield [158] per McGrath, William Young and Glazebrook JJ, with Elias CJ concurring on this point at [19]. So yes, there is a common law power to suppress a judgment temporarily to protect fair trial rights [168]-[175]. Elias CJ dissented, holding that this power had been removed by statute [38]-[46], [86].

But at the post-publication stage it is too late for an alleged contemnor to protest that the court should not have made the order, except in limited circumstances. It is possible that an alleged contemnor may challenge, in the contempt proceedings, the court's jurisdiction to make the order [222], although whether it is a defence to an allegation of contempt that the court had no jurisdiction to make the order has been left undecided [footnote 283]. The majority recognised that there might be some exceptions in relation to third parties who have not had an opportunity to challenge an order or its terms, or who have taken available steps but not been heard, if obedience to the order would result in "irretrievable loss" of an important right [224]-[226].

The steps that are available to a third party who might wish to challenge a suppression order or its terms were specified and areas of uncertainty discussed at [181]-[187]. The majority noted that the effect on the common law of the position of the media under the Criminal Procedure Act 2011, ss 198, 200, 283 remains to be worked out in future cases [187].

Elias CJ would have allowed a third party to challenge the legality of an order in proceedings to commit him for contempt for disobeying it, unless such a challenge would be an abuse of process [8]-[9], [56], [61]-[85]. She would have allowed the appeal.

So, by a majority the appeal was dismissed and the appellant was ordered to report and commence serving his sentence of six weeks' imprisonment.

This is one of those cases where the law was (if the lack of unanimity in the Supreme Court is any indication) unclear at the time the alleged contempt was committed, and retrospective clarification is for the benefit of everyone except this appellant. However the Court can't just say, "Well fair enough Mr Siemer, you had a good crack at it and your case helped us clarify the law a wee bit, so don't bother with the imprisonment." As the majority said at [191]:

"Provided the court had power to make an order of its kind, a court order is binding and conclusive unless and until it is set aside on appeal or for other reason lawfully quashed. Collateral attacks on such orders are not permitted. Neither the parties, nor other persons subject to an order, are permitted to arrange their affairs in accordance with their perceptions of its flaws, including any individual views they may have concerning the validity of the order. The position is the same whether the order has been made in the High Court or in the District Court.[Footnote: 'Slater v R [2011] NZCA 568 at [17]. Mr Slater was not a party to the proceedings in which the order he breached was made.']"

And added [208]:

" ... The constitutional position with court orders is different from that of a collateral challenge to an executive or administrative action, and a different approach is required. The common law rule against collateral challenge to court orders is itself premised on the centrality of the rule of law. ... The special need in our society for compliance with judicial orders is the constitutional reason for treating disobedience of court orders differently from conduct in breach of subordinate legislation or administrative directive. No such rule of law concerns are raised when a defendant, charged in a criminal court with breach of the directions of an executive government agency, raises their unlawfulness, and resulting invalidity, as a defence. The defendant, of course, in such a case takes the risk of incurring a criminal conviction and punishment if his or her expectation of illegality proves to be wrong. Disobeying the government's administrative directions in this way does not impede the exercise of its functions. But if disobedience of court orders in that way were to be tolerated, the Court's authority and ability to discharge its functions would become seriously impaired. For that reason, the common law of contempt by disobedience of a court order rests on the existence of an order that was made with legal authority, and was thus lawful, as we have held in the present case. It does not matter whether or not the order should have been made at all or made in those terms... .]" [footnotes omitted]

A murky corner of the criminal law: punishment and dignity

Some annoyance has been expressed in the United Kingdom over the Strasbourg court's Grand Chamber decision in Vinter v United Kingdom [2013] ECtHR 645 (9 July 2013). The Court held that procedures in England and Wales for the release of prisoners serving life sentences imposed without right to apply for parole were so unclear as to leave such inmates without hope. This was a breach of Article 3 of the European Convention on Human Rights, which states:

"No one shall be subjected to torture or to inhuman or degrading treatment or punishment."

The essence of the decision was expressed by Judge Power-Forde in his concurring opinion:

"...Article 3 encompasses what might be described as "the right to hope". ... [H]ope is an important and constitutive aspect of the human person. Those who commit the most abhorrent and egregious of acts and who inflict untold suffering upon others, nevertheless retain their fundamental humanity and carry within themselves the capacity to change. Long and deserved though their prison sentences may be, they retain the right to hope that, someday, they may have atoned for the wrongs which they have committed. They ought not to be deprived entirely of such hope. To deny them the experience of hope would be to deny a fundamental aspect of their humanity and, to do that, would be degrading."

Article 3 has a corresponding provision in the ICCPR, Article 7, which has been ratified by many countries, as can be seen from this Wikipedia entry.

Nevertheless, imprisonment for life without the right to apply for release on parole is something that many people find acceptable for the worst offenders. For example, in New Zealand s 103(2A) of the Sentencing Act 2002, and s 20(5) of the Parole Act 2002, both introduced on 1 June 2010, reflect the legislature's acceptance of this form of life sentence. The compassionate release provision in s 41 of the Parole Act 2002 appears to apply to these prisoners, but they have to be "seriously ill and unlikely to recover".

The Vinter controversy raises numerous elementary questions. If a law is enacted by a democracy, can it be called immoral? [Yes.] Who, outside the democracy, can call this law immoral? [Anyone.] When, if ever, should the democracy pay attention to an outsider's opinion about the morality of its law? [Big question. Subjectively: only if the democracy has decided to pay attention. Objectively and pragmatically: if it would be wise for the democracy to pay attention. Objectively and morally: if it would be right for the democracy to pay attention.] Can the democracy change its mind about paying attention to an outsider's opinion about the morality of its law? [As a practical matter, yes, if it insists that it has sovereignty in this respect.] Can the democracy simply ignore the outsider's opinion? [Yes, although it might be more comfortable doing so if there was clear democratic support for ignoring the opinion.] If ignoring the outsider's opinion amounts to breach of international treaty obligations, will there be consequences? [Probably "only" political ones in the form of criticism and perhaps loss of esteem (moral regard) in the context under discussion here.]

The same questions arise if the law was enacted not by a democracy but by a dictatorship, and if the "outsider" is more accurately seen as part of the legal system (a sort of sharer of sovereignty). In all cases the difference over what is moral is settled, as far as the legal system is concerned, by legislation.

A person whose Convention (or Covenant) rights have been breached may find it hard to get a remedy. The ECtHR often declares a breach and then says that the declaration is itself sufficient satisfaction. But as Judge Ziemele said in a concurring opinion in Vinter:

"...where a human rights court, in a dispute between a State and an individual, establishes a violation and where the individual concerned, an injured party, has claimed damages, the declaration that a finding of a violation is sufficient satisfaction does not answer that claim."

The tendency to say that a declaration of a breach is itself sufficient satisfaction reflects the political nature of international relations: there are occasions when what is said is all that can be done. But Judge Ziemele's point was that the court should address damages and if it thinks there should be no damages it should say so, otherwise it should say what is to be paid.

So, the United Kingdom is entitled to have whatever laws it wishes, although getting them may require some adjustment of current international law arrangements. If it wants laws that are internationally regarded as immoral, so be it.

Controversial use of the presumption of innocence

The extended meaning given by the European Court of Human Rights to the presumption of innocence (Art 6 § 2 of the Convention) requires a court, in declining to interfere with a refusal to award compensation to a defendant whose conviction was quashed on appeal and for whom no retrial was ordered, to avoid language that suggests the defendant was guilty: Allen v United Kingdom [2013] ECtHR 678 (12 July 2013).

New expert evidence cast doubt on the strength of the evidence that had been given against the defendant at the trial, although on the appeal against conviction the Court of Appeal (Criminal Division) observed (as recorded in [20] of the Grand Chamber's judgment in Allen):

"[153] ... We ask ourselves whether the fresh evidence, which we have heard as to the cause of death and the amount of force necessary to cause the triad, might reasonably have affected the jury's decision to convict. For all the reasons referred to we have concluded that it might. Accordingly the conviction is unsafe and this appeal must be allowed. The conviction will be quashed."

This is quite different from concluding that no reasonable jury could have convicted the defendant. Compensation might be awarded to a defendant who, on the basis of new evidence, is shown to have been actually innocent of the crime for which a term of imprisonment has been partly or wholly served, or to a defendant in respect of whom, in the light of new evidence, no reasonable jury could properly have convicted: Adams, R (on the application of) v Secretary of State for Justice [2011] UKSC 18 (11 May 2011), noted here on 15 May 2011).

An inroad on this was sought to be made in Allen by resort to the extended (or what the Grand Chamber called the "second aspect" of the) presumption of innocence. This is [94]:

"... in keeping with the need to ensure that the right guaranteed by Article 6 § 2 is practical and effective, the presumption of innocence also has another aspect. Its general aim, in this second aspect, is to protect individuals who have been acquitted of a criminal charge, or in respect of whom criminal proceedings have been discontinued, from being treated by public officials and authorities as though they are in fact guilty of the offence charged. In these cases, the presumption of innocence has already operated, through the application at trial of the various requirements inherent in the procedural guarantee it affords, to prevent an unfair criminal conviction being imposed. Without protection to ensure respect for the acquittal or the discontinuation decision in any other proceedings, the fair trial guarantees of Article 6 § 2 could risk becoming theoretical and illusory. What is also at stake once the criminal proceedings have concluded is the person's reputation and the way in which that person is perceived by the public. To a certain extent, the protection afforded under Article 6 § 2 in this respect may overlap with the protection afforded by Article 8 (see, for example, Zollman v. The United Kingdom (dec.), no. 62902/00, ECHR 2003-XII; and Taliadorou and Stylianou v. Cyprus, nos. 39627/05 and 39631/05, §§ 27 and 56-59, 16 October 2008)."

The Grand Chamber held that this aspect of the presumption of innocence did indeed apply to this claim for compensation because there was a sufficient link between the quashing of the conviction without order for retrial and the claim for compensation [104], [107]-[108].

It was therefore necessary to look at the language used by the Court of Appeal in the civil proceedings when it dismissed the defendant's appeal against refusal of compensation [129]. The Grand Chamber concluded [134] that the language used by the domestic courts emphasised that it would have been for a jury to assess the new evidence, had a retrial been ordered, and did not undermine Ms Allen's acquittal.

The Grand Chamber was unanimous, but Judge De Gaetano delivered a short separate opinion, saying that the relevance of the presumption of innocence in such cases should be reassessed. He believes that the presumption has no place in civil compensation proceedings.

The case is interesting for its illustration of the use of the presumption of innocence. In a narrow and largely uncontroversial sense the presumption of innocence is a procedural guarantee in the context of a criminal trial, imposing requirements in respect of the burden of proof, legal presumptions of fact and law, the privilege against self-incrimination, pre-trial publicity (with reservations noted below), and premature expressions by a trial court or by other public officials, of a defendant's guilt [93].

The presumption of innocence may have a role in pre-trial procedures, such as bail applications, although this will usually be modified by statute allowing consideration of the strength of the prosecution evidence and, for some defendants, placing on the applicant the burden of persuading the court that bail should be granted. The relevance of the presumption to name suppression decisions may be doubted (see, for example, Suppressing Names and Evidence (NZLC IP13 2008) at 3.56-3.57, and in its final report the Law Commission did not mention the presumption of innocence, only the presumption of openness: NZLC R109 2009).

Book review: “Law as a Leap of Faith” by John Gardner

A hankering for some difficult reading led me to click on "buy now" for the hard cover edition of "Law as a Leap of Faith" by John Gardner. He is Professor of Jurisprudence at Oxford.

I haven't had much of a look at jurisprudence since I was a law student. I had found HLA Hart's celebrated "The Concept of Law" and "Punishment and Responsibility" among the most awfully written, tedious and incomprehensible books I had ever been told I should read. My still largely-unread copies, on my shelves as I write, were lent to me all those decades ago, and the lender hasn't asked for them back.

I wanted the hard copy of Gardner's book because I knew I would be scrawling all over it as I struggled to grasp its meaning. I call him "Gardner" in imitation of the academics' habit of referring to each other by surname only, as if they were schoolboys or Great People like Socrates or Beethoven. I would rather call him John, as he seems a pleasant sort of chap, if his lecture in Auckland on reasonableness, which can be heard here, is any indication. But then people would wonder why I didn't call Hart "Herbie", and Dworkin "Ronnie" (which is what Gardner has called him: p 274, n7).

As a practising lawyer I have been content with what Gardner says (p 273) most lawyers like: the Austinian view of laws as commands; that is the nature of laws and that is all we need to know about that. I say "laws" because lawyers are concerned with "the" law, whereas legal philosophers tend to be concerned with "law" as a genre (p 184).

So, what does Gardner say about his approach as a legal philosopher? In his Preface he describes it in this way:

"Philosophy is not the art of compiling as many little thoughts as possible into as few big thoughts as possible, but the art of wearing every thought down to its rightful little size and then keeping it in its rightful little place. So the main mission of this book, as I see it, is unbundling: separating out disparate thoughts that have often been regarded, mistakenly, as part of some package deal."

There are 11 chapters, mostly based on previously published work or lectures. The first few chapters are, I thought, quite hard going, and it is eventually comforting to have Gardner admit in Chapter 9 that he finds some of the writing by his fellow philosophers difficult to follow (eg p 236: "Hart's treatment of morality ... is a mess") or simply wrong (eg pp 184-185 referring to Dworkin's critique of Hart's criteria for a legal system). Indeed in this book nearly all of the references to Dworkin are to what Gardner considers to be his errors.

Some initial difficulties arise from the technical terminology, which is not explained in a glossary. You need to quickly get used to thinking about "norms". Norms are, so it seems to me now, standards or rules of behaviour. Not an enormous insight, I admit, as this is pretty much the dictionary definition. They are not necessarily legal in nature, and there are lots of other sorts of norms: moral norms (and there is a process whereby these can become legal norms too), etiquette, rules of sports, rules of associations, etc (see p 296). Another important term is "legality". Although he seems to equate this with the rule of law at p viii of the Preface, Gardner uses legality more widely to refer to the quality a norm has when it is a legal norm. So Chapter 7, "The Legality of Law" is an inquiry into what is needed for a norm to be a legal norm.

I thought on first reading that there was a dreadful logical mistake on p 140, but, thank goodness, a hundred pages later it became clear that this was not so, thanks to Gardner's style becoming more reader-friendly (which is odd because the passage on p 140 was written in 2012, and that on p 240 in 1999: is he getting less clear as he grows up?) Could be me getting more used to the material as I read through from beginning to end. The chapters can be read in various orders, and the Preface helpfully provides what amounts to a roadmap for the book.

Following Hart (and Gardner tends to follow and improve upon Hart), an inquiry into the nature of law begins, not by analysing laws, but by considering what is required for a system of norms to be a legal system (p 179). I won't spoil your fun by telling you all of them, but very important is the requirement that the actions of the norm-applying officials can sometimes result in the making of more legal norms (p 180). Important too, and not noticed by Hart, is the legal system's claim to be supreme among the institutionalised normative systems (p 278). Legal norms are products of their legal system and encompass laws and rulings; the laws are of general application and the rulings apply to the parties in a case. Consideration of a ruling or a line of rulings in later cases may eventually result in development of a new law (eg p 185, 186-188).

Most laws are consistent with moral norms, so it is usually morally right for judges to apply legal norms. But there can be immoral laws, and this raises the question ("puzzle" p 189) of how officials become morally required to apply legal norms. Gardner calls this the main puzzle about law, and he says Hart was mistaken in saying that there is a generalised moral value in following laws (p 189). No, but officials are required to follow laws because a characteristic of legality is the binding power of the oaths taken by the officials, their contractual obligations, and the semi-voluntary obligations of their professions. Thus a judge must, in arriving at a determination, put justice above other moral imperatives such as kindness and prudence (191-192).

Laws have an inner morality, in a sense that reflects the quality of the means by which they serve their ends; it is preferable to describe laws as modal (concerned with means) rather than as procedural or substantive (pp 202, 206-207). Variations in the inner morality of different laws mean that not all laws live up to the ideals of legality. Hart thought there are two concepts of law, the wider positive law (law that is law because it satisfies the formal means by which it was made, so is correctly posited) and the narrower genre of law that lives up to an appropriate moral ideal (pp 193-194). Gardner, however, prefers to say that this second concept is unnecessary, and that it should be sufficient to say that there are specialised moral norms that are "partly constitutive of law as a genre" (p 194). Examples are the norms that law should be prospective (rather than retrospective in application), open, general, and with qualities such as these they constitute a distinctive ideal of legality, known as the rule of law.

But it's not just the internal morality of rules that determines compliance with the rule of law, but it is also the internal morality of the arrangements for upholding their purported application (pp 209-210). Gardner refers to arrangements identified by Raz: a robustly independent judiciary, affordable and easy access to the courts, effective judicial review of executive action, effective appeals, dispassionate professionalism among police, prosecutors, and other enforcement officials, strong respect for procedural propriety, and the giving of reasons for decisions. Gardner points out that it is a violation of the rule of law for a judge to declare a rule but not to apply it, or for a judge to deny there is a rule and to say a case is decided "on its particular facts" (p 210).

I should add that you might compare these requirements of the rule of law to those advocated by Tom Bingham in "The Rule of Law" (2010); he included the norm that the law must afford adequate protection of fundamental human rights, acknowledging in his Chapter 7 that this was not a principle which would be universally accepted as embraced within the rule of law, and he referred to the version of the rule of law put forward by Raz as being "close to what some economists have called a 'thin' definition of the rule of law". Bingham noted that the Universal Declaration of Human Rights and later international instruments have linked the protection of human rights to the rule of law, as has the European Court of Human Rights (citing Engel v The Netherlands (No 1) (1976) 1 EHRR 647, 672, para 69, and Golder v United Kingdom (1975) 1 EHRR 524, 589, para 34).

I found Gardner's discussion of justice in Chapter 10 particularly helpful. He reminds us that justice is proportionality in allocation of goods and ills (p 242). Justice is not peculiar to legal systems and questions of justice arise whether or not there are rules (p 256). But in a legal system the law is only subject to justice at the point where the benefits and burdens come to be allocated. (I interpose: this does not mean only at the end of a case, as judges often have to make decisions during a trial – for example by permitting or preventing some forms of cross-examination – by applying the criterion of the interests of justice.) There are competing moral norms, such as humanity, that a legal system can give priority to, but a court ought to be just above all (pp 244, 259).

Well I don't want to spoil your enjoyment of "Law as a Leap of Faith" by going through it all and revealing its arguments. But in wondering how philosophers work you might ask how all these (what Gardner would call) little thoughts fit into their rightful little places. You may find yourself making a diagram, if like me you are the sort of person who is assisted by images (click on image for full diagram and key).

I keep not depriving you of enjoyment to save myself the task of setting it all out, and also to assist in the accumulation of Gardner's royalties. Dan Brown is safe in the popularity stakes, but "Law as a Leap of Faith" has an excitement of its own that repays any effort needed to adjust to the technical prose.