Tag Archives: Judicial Review

Split decision in Mozambique gas project challenge

Posted on by
Reply

Back in October last year, I wrote a piece arguing that the UK legal system is ill-equipped to deal with the climate crisis. Citing a number of high-profile legal challenges to carbon-intensive infrastructure projects which have been dismissed over the last few years, I argued that the wide margin of appreciation enjoyed by decision-makers when it comes to translating the UK’s legally binding emissions-reduction targets into actual policy and the reluctance of judges to be seen to be making politicised decisions meant that such challenges are likely to keep failing. Since then, two interesting judgments have been handed down in cases concerning decisions to approve new fossil fuel developments, which have caused me to revisit some of the assertions I made in my previous post on the subject to see whether they still hold true.

First there was the judgment in R (on the application of Finch) v Surrey County Council [2022] EWCA Civ 187. Here, a majority of the Court of Appeal upheld the decision of Holgate J that Surrey County Council’s approval of a new oil well at Horse Hill was lawful, but disagreed that downstream greenhouse gas (GHG) emissions are “legally incapable” of being factored in as an indirect effect of a project for the purposes of its Environmental Impact Assessment (EIA). The court held instead that such emissions should be included where there is a sufficiently close connection between the proposed project and its putative effect, with the existence of such a connection being decided on a case-by-case basis [41, 141]. The majority found that the necessary causal connection was absent in the present case [85]. However, Moylan LJ held that there was a close connection and the decision to exclude end-use emissions from the EIA was therefore legally flawed. In his own words, “it is not difficult to describe the combustion of material obtained from a development whose sole purpose is to obtain that material for combustion as being an environmental effect of the development” [138].

Then, on 15 March last week, there was another split decision in the High Court over the legality of the UK government’s approval of $1.15bn of export credit finance for a huge liquified natural gas (LNG) project in Mozambique. So, why could Lord Justice Stuart-Smith, who normally sits in the Court of Appeal, and Mrs Justice Thornton not agree? What happens in the event of a 1–1 split decision of this kind? And what (if anything) might R (Friends of the Earth Ltd) v Secretary of State for International Trade / Export Credits Guarantee Department & Chancellor of the Exchequer [2022] EWHC 568 (Admin) mean for the future of UK climate litigation?

The proposed site for the LNG project is in northern Mozambique, in the offshore Rovuma Basin. It is anticipated that around 5% of the LNG extracted would be retained for domestic use in Mozambique, with the remaining 95% being exported. The challenge to the project, brought by Friends of the Earth (FoE), was really a challenge to three separate decisions.

  1. First, there was the decision on 10 June 2020 by the CEO of UK Export Finance (UKEF) — the government’s export credit agency, which works alongside the Department for International Trade to help UK exporters to find new markets through loans, guarantees and insurance — to provide $1.15bn in financial support for the project, which was supported by the Secretary of State for International Trade.
  1. Second, there was the approval of this investment by the Chancellor of the Exchequer on 12 June 2020.
  1. Third and finally, there was the decision of 30 June 2020 by the Accounting Officer and Chief Executive of UKEF to approve the underwriting minute and the decision of 1 July 2020 of the Chief Executive of UKEF to approve the clearance of documents memorandum.

However, for the sake of ease, I will group these stages together and refer to them jointly as ‘the decision’. The decision was controversial within government at the time, with support from then Secretary of State for International Trade, Liz Truss, but concerns or outright opposition expressed by Business Secretary Alok Sharma, Foreign Secretary Dominic Raab and International Development Secretary Anne-Marie Trevelyan. In particular, ministers opposed to the project cited the reputational risks it posed in the context of the UK’s hosting of COP 26 the following year. Stuart-Smith LJ recognised the controversies surrounding the project in his judgment but was at pains to stress at several points that the role of the courts in cases of judicial review is not to comment on the merits of a decision but only on its legality [6, 49, 95].

FoE challenged the decision on two, closely related grounds.

  1. Ground 1(a): the decision was based on an error of law or fact, namely that the Project and its funding was compatible with the United Kingdom’s commitments under the Paris Climate Change Agreement (“the Paris Agreement”) and/or assisted Mozambique to achieve its commitments under the Paris Agreement; and/or
  1. Ground 1(b): UKEF’s decision was otherwise unlawful in so far as it was reached without regard to essential relevant considerations in reaching the view that funding the Project aligned with the UK and Mozambique’s obligations under the Paris Agreement.

In ruling on each of these grounds, the Court was concerned with three main questions, summarised by Stuart-Smith LJ at [96]:

First, what is the appropriate scope of enquiry when a decision maker decides to take something into account in the course of the decision-making process? Second, should the Court entertain submissions and decide questions of interpretation of the Paris Agreement? Third, and related to the second, is the Foreign Act of State doctrine relevant or applicable to the facts of this case?

The scope of enquiry

All public bodies are under a Tameside duty to carry out a sufficient enquiry prior to making a decision, so that they are in possession of all the necessary information required to make it. The name is derived from Lord Diplock’s judgment in Secretary of State for Education and Science v Metropolitan Borough of Tameside [1976] 3 All ER 665 at 696, [1977] AC 1014, where he held that the question for a court is: “did the Secretary of State ask himself the right question and take reasonable steps to acquaint himself with the relevant information to enable him to answer it correctly?” [1065].

However, subsequent case law has tended to view the question of what considerations should be taken into account and what information should be sought as being a matter for the decision-maker and largely context-specific, subject to the irrationality test and any statutory requirements. Citing the judgment of the High Court in R (Spurrier) v Transport Secretary [2019] EWHC 1070 (Admin), [2020] PTSR 240 [141] ff., concerning the appropriate standard of review where the Tameside duty is engaged, Stuart-Smith LJ also noted that, where the decision under challenge depends “essentially on political judgment” or involves “scientific, technical and predictive assessments” the decision-maker should be granted a wider margin of appreciation in relation to the inclusion or non-inclusion in the decision-making process of information on a particular subject [100]. Thornton J also recognised that in the context of a complex, scientific, predictive evaluation of the kind required when conducting an EIA for this kind of project, decision-makers must enjoy a wide margin of appreciation, and cited a number of other climate change cases where this principle had been stressed [271, 277]. Yet the two judges took very different views on whether UKEF had discharged its duty of enquiry, particularly as regards the calculation of Scope 3 emissions.

GHG emissions tend to be divided into three categories for the purposes of conducting environmental/climate impact assessments. The direct emissions associated with an activity or project fall within Scope 1. In this case that is the emissions associated with the extraction of LNG. In the Horse Hill oil well case it was the emissions associated with the construction of the well and associated buildings. Scope 2 emissions include the indirect emissions from the generation of purchased electricity in order to undertake the activity. Scope 3 are all indirect emissions not included in Scope 2, including the end-use of products produced by the activity.

In relation to the Mozambique LNG project, UKEF produced a climate change assessment report which posed the question: “what are the estimated Scope 3 GHG emissions of this project?”. However, the report ultimately declined to make an estimate on the basis that it would be “inaccurate and therefore likely to be misleading”. An associated environmental/human rights report stated that Scope 3 emissions could not be reported “due to considerable uncertainty in the measurement and reporting of these data”, which “could not be resolved without further analysis or due diligence” [301].

The question for the Court in the present case, therefore, was whether this failure to take Scope 3 emissions into consideration was unreasonable. Stuart-Smith LJ held that it was not. He considered that UKEF enjoyed a wide margin of appreciation over how it conducted its assessment of the climate change impacts of the proposed project in the present case, since “at the time there was no established or internationally recognised methodology for evaluating the climate change impacts of a project like the one under scrutiny” [103], and further held that quantification would not have added anything material to the qualitative assumptions made for the purpose of assessing compliance with the Paris Agreement [234].

By contrast, Thornton J noted that the UKEF climate report set itself the task of producing an impact assessment which would “fully acknowledge”, “fully consider” and “evidence” the climate change risks associated with the project so that they could be coherently presented to ministers but ultimately failed to deliver a proper assessment of those risks [332]. She pointed out that UKEF had neglected to estimate Scope 3 emissions, even though there did in fact exist a suitable methodology, in the form of the GHG Protocol used by many private-sector companies and endorsed by the House of Commons Environmental Audit Committee [304].

Scope 3 emissions for the project were eventually calculated by the Department for Business, Energy and Industrial Strategy (BEIS) after the Prime Minister requested advice on whether they could be offset. This calculation took just 24 hours and was completed on 30 June 2020, shortly before final approval for the project was given. The BEIS calculations indicated that the LNG extracted from the site would produce some 805 million tons of CO2 over the 25-year lifetime of the project, constituting no less than 0.2% of world’s entire remaining carbon budget if we are to stay within 1.5oC of warming. Yet the UKEF climate report was never amended to reflect this updated calculation [322–324].

Other flaws in the UKEF climate report were touched upon briefly, in particular its inconsistent assessments concerning the extent to which the Scope 3 emissions from the project would be offset by a reduction in the use of more polluting fuels. While the summary section suggests it is more likely than not that the project would lead to a net reduction in global emissions, the conclusion indicates that it may lead to such a reduction, and a passage quoting analysis by the US export credit agency, US EXIM, states that it is unlikely that the project would replace more polluting fuels and suggests that it might instead hamper the growth of renewables. These differing positions could lead to very different outcomes in relation to the UK’s ability to meet its obligations under the Paris Agreement [310–316].

In light of these ambiguities, and the failure to amend the report with the updated Scope 3 emissions calculation and send it back to ministers for reconsideration, Thornton J concluded that UKEF “failed to make reasonable and legally adequate enquiries in relation to a key consideration in the decision making (climate risks). The lack of information deprived Ministers of a legally adequate understanding of the scale of the emissions impact from the Project” [333].

The interpretation of the Paris Agreement

It is worth noting at this stage that the UK’s international commitments under the Paris Agreement have no automatic force in domestic law, but that the UK has adopted a legally-binding obligation under s.1(1) of the Climate Change Act 2008 to reach net zero emissions by 2050 and an obligation on the Secretary of State to set regular carbon budgets (s.4, CCA 2008). This means that decisions can be challenged in domestic courts on the basis of their failure to comply with these domestic climate obligations, although the Act is not prescriptive about the actions that ministers or officials must take to achieve net zero. However, as the parties in the present case agreed, compatibility with the provisions of unincorporated treaties can also be justiciable in certain circumstances.

Drawing together principles from a range of authorities, Stuart-Smith LJ held that, while there was no general rule that a national court shall never determine a question of interpretation of an unincorporated international treaty, it should adopt a lower intensity of review where the language of the treaty is broad and aspirational [119]. In such circumstances, the domestic court need only satisfy itself that the decision-maker’s interpretation of the relevant treaty provisions is “tenable”, rather than necessarily correct. Thornton J concurred that the correct test in the present circumstances was that of “tenability” [262] but the judges disagreed on whether the decision under challenge satisfied that test.

Stuart-Smith LJ held that “UKEF was entitled to form the view that the support for the Project that was in contemplation was in accordance with its obligations under the Paris Agreement as properly understood. That view was at least tenable” [240], while Thornton J concluded that “the failure to quantify the Scope 3 emissions, and the other flaws in the Climate Report mean that there was no rational basis by which to demonstrate that funding for the Project is consistent with Article 2(1)(c) of the Paris Agreement on Climate Change and a pathway to low greenhouse gas emissions” [335].

Foreign Act of State doctrine

There was no disagreement on the third question, regarding the applicability of the Foreign Act of State doctrine. The Defendants submitted that the portion of Ground 1(a) concerning Mozambique’s commitments under the Paris Agreement was not justiciable, since it is not, as a matter of judicial policy, for the courts of this country to determine the legality of acts of a foreign government in the conduct of foreign affairs. After considering a range of case law on the doctrine, Stuart-Smith LJ held that, while the involvement of foreign state does not automatically preclude domestic courts from ruling on issues of foreign law, provided that there is a relevant “foothold” in domestic law in relation to the issue [130], it was not for a UK court to pronounce on whether the development of the LNG project would cause Mozambique to breach its own obligations under the Paris Agreement [232].

Where next?

So, what happens next? The split decision means that the judicial review did not succeed. However, the day after handing down its judgment, the High Court took the unusual step of issuing an order giving Friends of the Earth permission to appeal. Provided that FoE chooses to proceed, therefore, the Court of Appeal will settle the issue. Given the differing approaches taken by the judges in the lower court to Scope 3 emissions, it will be interesting to see how the judgment of the Court of Appeal in the present case interacts with its decision in Finch v Surrey County Council. Having declined to provide specific examples in that case of circumstances in which the connection between a proposed project and a putative effect might be sufficiently close to justify taking Scope 3 emissions into account when carrying out an EIA, the Court will now be forced to decide whether the connection between the planned project and the end-use emissions in the present case is so close as to make a decision to exclude them unreasonable.

The bar for success for such challenges is extremely high and the weight of recent case law is firmly against the Appellant. It would be foolish to try to predict the outcome of the appeal but, for all the reasons set out in my piece last October, one cannot help but suspect that it will be dismissed. However, given the manifest flaws in the UKEF climate change report and the scale of the GHG emissions that the project would produce, if ever there was a case to test the theory that the UK courts will never overturn a government decision on climate change grounds, this could be it.

What I’ve been up to this week

It is exam season on the Bar course, so much of my time has been taken up with preparing for assessments. But last Wednesday I took an evening off to go and see Ralph Fiennes in David Hare’s new play at the Bridge Theatre. In ‘Straight Line Crazy’, Fiennes plays Robert Moses, the hugely influential and controversial urban planner and master builder, whose decades-long career shaped much of the modern look and layout of the New York metropolitan area. After a slow start, the play worked its way up to a pretty devastating second act, and addressed many mid-twentieth-century arguments — about road-building, gentrification, access to the open space, and structural racism in planning — which are still awfully topical today.

Saint George on a bicycle: Why we should repeal the Human Rights Act

Posted on by
Reply

Ever since its introduction by the last Labour government, the Conservative party has railed against the Human Rights Act 1998. This has been primarily for two reasons. (David Allen Green, who is twice as clever as I am, puts it at four.) First, the Human Rights Act represents the imposition of foreign values on the United Kingdom. The elision of the European Court of Human Rights and the European Court of Justice is not (or not always) a mistake: both are used in the press to exacerbate a general Europhobia. This is what motivates the desire for a “British Bill of Rights”, promised in the 2015 Conservative manifesto and then again after the party’s surprise general election victory. With Brexit dominating the constitutional agenda from the next year, human rights reform never materialised. Second, the Human Rights Act frustrates the state’s maintenance of public order by, for example, prohibiting the deportation of foreign criminals. As Home Secretary, Theresa May gave a speech to the Conservative party conference on Tuesday 4 October 2011, in which she described, among the absurd cases that the Human Rights Act had brought about, “The violent drug dealer who cannot be sent home because his daughter – for whom he pays no maintenance – lives here.” There is a third reason for the unpopularity of the Human Rights Act, although this cannot really be associated with the Conservative party and is probably limited to scholarly circles. It is that the Human Rights Act is constitutionally inappropriate. In a Parliamentary sovereignty, judges should not twist the words of elected representatives, but should allow laws to mean what they say, especially those passed before the Human Rights Act. The Human Rights Act also imports the illegitimate jurisprudence of the European Court of Human Rights.

None of these criticisms withstands serious scrutiny. On the first point, the Human Rights Act makes enforceable in domestic courts the rights and freedoms guaranteed by the European Convention on Human Rights, which was ratified by the member states of the newly-formed Council of Europe in 1953. Winston Churchill was an early proponent of the Council of Europe and Sir David Maxwell Fyfe, later Lord Chancellor, led the drafting of the Convention. Since then, the UK has had as much influence as any other country on the interpretation of the Convention by nominating judges to sit on the European Court of Human Rights. Critics of the Convention rights cannot convincingly point to any individual articles or lines of authority that are continental or un-British in nature. It is a pretty British project. On the second point, the Convention rights are crafted in such a way as to enable the state to govern properly. The right to respect for one’s private and family life, for example, is qualified so that it can be interfered with if a public good such as public safety justifies interference. In respect of the deportation of foreign criminals, the law changed in 2014, showing that Parliament is capable of pursuing what it considers to be the public good. Today, the case referred to by Theresa May, decided in 2009 and upheld by the Court of Appeal in 2011, would probably be decided differently. On the third point, as liberal lawyers never tire of pointing out, the Human Rights Act was passed by Parliament, and, by applying it, judges are doing nothing more than enforcing the will of Parliament. Squeezing primary legislation into conformity with Convention rights under section 3, or striking down secondary legislation made by a minister under section 6, is exactly what Parliament has decided it would like judges to do. That is Parliamentary sovereignty.

Nevertheless, complaints about the Human Rights Act continue to emerge from the Conservative party. The newly-appointed Lord Chancellor, Dominic Raab, spoke about “overhauling” the Human Rights Act at the party conference in Manchester on 5 October 2021. The 2009 case reappeared, although whether it forms part of a legitimate case against the Human Rights Act since the 2014 amendment is unclear. Raab’s demotion (or promotion, depending on your perspective) provoked fears because he has a track-record of antipathy towards the Human Rights Act. However, the choice of the strong but vague word “overhaul” might suggest that a full repeal is not on the cards.

I will not say that this is a bad thing. Especially in the context of the present government, the loss of an opportunity to vindicate Convention rights in UK courts, by way of judicial review or a claim directly under the Human Rights Act, would have a disastrous human impact. However, on a level of constitutional principle and for the protection of rights in the long term, there is a case for repealing the Human Rights Act.  

Parliamentary sovereignty was the primary constitutional principle to emerge from the tumult of seventeenth-century England. At that time, the emphasis was on Parliamentary sovereignty as opposed to sovereignty of the Crown. However, at least since A. V. Dicey’s 1885 work, Introduction to the Study of the Law of the Constitution, the English legal establishment has considered that the emphasis is on the sovereignty of Parliament, as opposed to a Parliament with limited power to legislate. Professor Dicey wrote at pp. 3–4 (eighth edition, 1915, reprinted by the Liberty Fund, 1982):

The principle of Parliamentary sovereignty means neither more or less than this, namely, that Parliament thus defined has, under the English constitution, the right to make or unmake any law whatsoever; and further, no person or body is recognised by the law as having a right to override or set aside the legislation of Parliament.

Wade and Forsyth’s Administrative Law (eleventh edition, Oxford University Press 2014) states at p. 21:

The power of an Act of the sovereign Parliament, howsoever enacted, is boundless.

During the UK’s membership of the European Union, the single important exception to this principle was that primary legislation passed by Parliament would be invalid to the extent that it conflicted with EU law.[1] However, since it was Parliament, by the European Communities Act 1972, that authorised this state of affairs, and Parliament could put an end to it if it wished, as it eventually did, Parliament remained in principle sovereign.[2] And now that the UK has left the EU, no higher law exists than primary legislation on the domestic legal plane, according to orthodox constitutional theory.

The UK is unusual in this regard. In few other developed democracies is the legislature able to pass whatever law it wants by a simple majority, unlimited by fundamental rights or other constitutional restrictions on legislation. That is because an elective dictatorship, as Lord Hailsham called the UK system of Parliamentary sovereignty combined with executive dominance of Parliament, is illiberal in that it offers no protection to individuals or groups that fall into disfavour with the majority. Every person’s fundamental rights and freedoms demand protection, from the courts as a matter of justice and from the state as a matter of justification for its existence. Absolute Parliamentary supremacy is not an acceptable constitutional principle.

UK constitutional law is creeping towards acceptance of this reality. This can be seen on two levels.

On a structural level, senior judges have held, usually obiter and hypothetically, that the courts might not enforce a law enacted by Parliament that violated fundamental constitutional values. In Jackson v Attorney General [2005] UKHL 56; [2006] 1 AC 262, Lord Nicholls of Birkenhead said at [102]:

The classic account given by Dicey of the doctrine of the supremacy of Parliament, pure and absolute as it was, can now be seen to be out of place in the modern United Kingdom. Nevertheless, the supremacy of Parliament is still the general principle of our constitution. It is a construct of the common law. The judges created this principle. If that is so, it is not unthinkable that circumstances could arise where the courts may have to qualify a principle established on a different hypothesis of constitutionalism. In exceptional circumstances involving an attempt to abolish judicial review or the ordinary role of the courts, the Appellate Committee of the House of Lords or a new Supreme Court may have to consider whether this is a constitutional fundamental which even a sovereign Parliament acting at the behest of a complaisant House of Commons cannot abolish.

And Lord Hope of Craighead said at [104], at the start of a whole speech on this topic:

Our constitution is dominated by the sovereignty of Parliament. But Parliamentary sovereignty is no longer, if it ever was, absolute. It is not uncontrolled in the sense referred to by Lord Birkenhead LC in McCawley v The King [1920] AC 691, 720. It is no longer right to say that its freedom to legislate admits of no qualification whatever. Step by step, gradually but surely, the English principle of the absolute legislative sovereignty of Parliament which Dicey derived from Coke and Blackstone is being qualified.

In Hartian terms, the rule of recognition in English law is up for grabs. Alternatively, in the terms of T. R. S. Allan, who rejects the idea of a positivist rule of recognition, judges are beginning to recognise that a statute that flouted “the essentials of justice and good governance” would not be legitimate, and would therefore not “qualify as law”.[3] Whatever constitutional-theoretical model one prefers, the cases show that it is no longer clear that judges will unfailingly accept primary legislation as valid law.[4] Two weeks ago, Abella J, writing for the minority of four justices in the Supreme Court of Canada, cited Jackson, AXA and Privacy International (see [4]) as well as R (Miller) v Prime Minister [2019] UKSC 41; [2020] AC 373 to support the proposition that “unwritten constitutional principles have full legal force and can serve as substantive limitations on all branches of government” (Toronto (City) v. Ontario (Attorney General) 2021 SCC 34 at [166]).

On the level of rights, the courts have developed the doctrine of common-law constitutional rights, whose enumeration is determined by constitutional values such as the rule of law. As Lord Hope said in Jackson at [107], “The rule of law enforced by the courts is the ultimate controlling factor on which our constitution is based.”[5]

But what role can constitutional rights or the rule of law have under Parliamentary sovereignty? The courts have tried have it both ways. Their main tool in this respect is called the principle of legality. Lord Hoffmann’s explanation of the principle of legality in R (Simms) v Secretary of State for the Home Department [2000] 2 AC 115 has become the standard account. He said at 131:

Parliamentary sovereignty means that Parliament can, if it chooses, legislate contrary to fundamental principles of human rights. The Human Rights Act 1998 will not detract from this power. The constraints upon its exercise by Parliament are ultimately political, not legal. But the principle of legality means that Parliament must squarely confront what it is doing and accept the political cost. Fundamental rights cannot be overridden by general or ambiguous words. This is because there is too great a risk that the full implications of their unqualified meaning may have passed unnoticed in the democratic process. In the absence of express language or necessary implication to the contrary, the courts therefore presume that even the most general words were intended to be subject to the basic rights of the individual. In this way the courts of the United Kingdom, though acknowledging the sovereignty of Parliament, apply principles of constitutionality little different from those which exist in countries where the power of the legislature is expressly limited by a constitutional document.

The principle of legality allows the courts to uphold and apply constitutional values while not only paying lip-service to, but in substance maintaining, Parliamentary sovereignty.

The result is that the protection of constitutional rights is weak for two reasons. First, the principle of legality is half-hearted in its application because of its subservient relationship with the principle of Parliamentary sovereignty. Second, the courts have been hesitant to recognise a wide range of individual rights as constitutionally guaranteed. The common-law constitution, in both structure and substance, is small and struggling to grow.

Why? Because of the Human Rights Act.

The legal mechanics of the Human Rights Act are similar to what the courts currently accept is their role in protecting constitutional rights. Section 3 of the Human Rights Act mirrors the principle of legality, in that it requires courts to interpret legislation in line with Convention rights wherever possible. Lord Hoffmann drew this parallel in Simms at 132: “the principle of legality will be expressly enacted as a rule of constriction in section 3 [of the Human Rights Act]”. Section 4, which provides for declarations of incompatibility with Convention rights, has no practical effect.[6] The Human Rights Act’s chief virtue over the common law is its explicit enumeration of rights. As is inevitable, there remains debate over the scope of each right, but there are clear starting-points. The Human Rights Act provides effective protection or redress in countless situations, including state surveillance, protest, welfare policy and inquests.

That all sounds wonderful. What’s the problem? The problem is that the Human Rights Act has arrested the development of the common-law constitution. It removes any incentive for the common law to develop, while providing only moderate protection against the abuse of state power. The Human Rights Act is no substitute for fully-developed constitutionalism, but the constitution cannot fully develop while the Human Rights Act remains. To borrow David Allen Green’s image, the Human Rights Act is a set of constitutional stabilisers, and they need to come off.

There are two ways in which common-law constitutional doctrine needs to evolve. The first is structural: What do constitutional principles such as the rule of law and fundamental rights mean in practice, and what is their relationship with Parliamentary sovereignty? The second is elaborative: What are the rights that the constitution guarantees? These are difficult, controversial questions. Litigants will not build their cases on uncertain foundations unless they have no choice. If you were at risk of deportation, and you could ask the court to prevent your deportation on the basis of either the settled law of the Human Rights Act, or some untested constitutional theory, what would choose? The same goes for most judges, who are not attracted to controversy. There is no reason – arguably no way – for the common-law constitution to develop while the Human Rights Act is squatting on top of it.

This matters because the Human Rights Act only achieves a fraction of what the common-law constitution could and should become if given a chance to flourish. The Human Rights Act respects and affirms Parliamentary sovereignty. It purports to fulfil the role of guardian of rights while permitting Parliament to pass laws that expressly and seriously violate fundamental rights. It would not have been passed otherwise: Parliament would not willingly give up its sovereignty. But the protection that fundamental rights require is both from government and from Parliament, as the framers of written constitutions around the world knew. Until it is repealed to enable the constitution to develop rightly, so that the rule of law, and no longer Parliamentary sovereignty, is the master constitutional principle,[7] the Human Rights Act will remain the tapeworm in the belly of the constitution. Dicey called the British constitution “the most flexible polity in existence” (p. 39). Constitutional law must be permitted to flex in the only way the common law knows how to develop, through litigation, so that the normative basis of the constitution can be reflected in doctrine. 

During the previous decade, aware of the Conservative party’s unkind intentions towards the Human Rights Act, the courts have prodded the doctrine of common-law constitutional rights awake. In R (Osborn) v Parole Board [2013] UKSC 61; [2014] AC 1115, Lord Reed said at [57]:

The importance of the [Human Rights] Act is unquestionable. It does not however supersede the protection of human rights under the common law or statute, or create a discrete body of law based on the judgments of the European court. Human rights continue to be protected by our domestic law, interpreted and developed in accordance with the Act when appropriate.

And in Kennedy v Charity Commission [2014] UKSC 20; [2015] AC 455 at [46], Lord Mance said:

Since the passing of the Human Rights Act 1998, there has too often been a tendency to see the law in areas touched on by the Convention solely in terms of the Convention rights. But the Convention rights represent a threshold protection; and, especially in view of the contribution which common lawyers made to the Convention’s inception, they may be expected, at least generally even if not always, to reflect and to find their homologue in the common or domestic statute law.

And at [133] Lord Toulson said:

The analysis set out above is based on common law principles and not on article 10, which in my view adds nothing to the common law in the present context. This is not surprising. What we now term human rights law and public law has developed through our common law over a long period of time. The process has quickened since the end of World War II in response to the growth of bureaucratic powers on the part of the state and the creation of multitudinous administrative agencies affecting many aspects of the citizen’s daily life. The growth of the state has presented the courts with new challenges to which they have responded by a process of gradual adaption and development of the common law to meet current needs. This has always been the way of the common law and it has not ceased on the enactment of the Human Rights Act 1998, although since then there has sometimes been a baleful and unnecessary tendency to overlook the common law. It needs to be emphasised that it was not the purpose of the Human Rights Act that the common law should become an ossuary.

The subtext is that, if the Human Rights Act is repealed, we will need another means of preventing the abuse by the state of fundamental rights. And we have such a means. But while we in fact do have the protections of the Human Rights Act, the common law will not have the opportunity to fully flesh out constitutional principles. As the essays in Mark Elliott and Kirsty Hughes’ book show, the only rights that have been seriously developed during this period are those related to the institutions of justice, such as the right of access to the courts or the right to have justice done in public.[8] The courts have cleaved to the core of the rule of law and have been hesitant to explore the full range of protections that the constitution guarantees.

Maybe this is all wishful thinking. Maybe it is a risk whose costs are too high. Under the Human Rights Act, we have some kind of guarantee of fundamental rights enforceable in domestic courts, which is better than we have had for most of our history. But the 1970s and 1980s showed us that the courts are capable of using the constitutional means at their disposal, even if they have been neglected, to address the problems of the day the according to what are recognised as the pressing demands of justice. Further, do we want to wait for Parliament to pass a flagrantly oppressive law that the Human Rights Act is powerless to touch before asking the courts for a definitive answer to the question raised in Jackson? It will happen one day. The courts have started to deal with the reality that politicians don’t play by the rules anymore (R (Miller) v Prime Minister). They must take the full implications of that realisation seriously. The common-law constitution needs to evolve beyond Parliamentary sovereignty. It needs to regain its confidence and mature. If one more metaphor will not break the camel’s back, we have been sending villagers to appease the dragon since 1688. Do we have to wait until the princess is chosen as tribute before summoning Saint George? When he comes, he can’t be riding with stabilisers. We have to repeal the Human Rights Act.

What I’ve been doing this week…

I moved to Cambridge! So almost all of my reading has been prescribed. But Cambridge means walking which means podcasts. I’ve returned to Talking Politics: HISTORY OF IDEAS, hypnotically delivered by David Runciman. And I’ve started the wonderful Borderline Jurisprudence with Başak Etkin and Kostia Gorobets, which as an international law amateur I struggle to keep up with sometimes but it’s fascinating and imbued with humanity and a sense of humour. In other news I have continued my struggle to make tofu crispy.

[1] R (Factortame Ltd) v Secretary of State for Transport [1990] 2 Lloyd’s Rep 365 and [1991] 1 AC 603.

[2] R (Miller) v Secretary of State for Exiting the European Union [2017] UKSC 5; [2018] AC 61 at [60].

[3] T. R. S. Allan, The Sovereignty of Law: Freedom, Constitution, and Common Law (Oxford University Press 2013), p. 167.

[4] See also Lord Hope’s words in AXA General Insurance Ltd v Lord Advocate [2011] UKSC 46; [2012] HRLR 3 at [50] to [51], and, more recently, Lord Carnwath’s words in R (Privacy International) v Investigatory Powers Tribunal [2019] UKSC 22; [2019] HRLR 13 at [144].

[5] For examples of common-law constitutional rights in action, see, R (UNISON) v Lord Chancellor [2017] UKSC 51; [2017] ICR 1037 at [66] to [85] and R (Bugdaycay) v Secretary of State for the Home Department [1987] AC 514 at 531. Mark Elliott and Kirsty Hughes’ volume Common Law Constitutional Rights (Bloomsbury 2020) attests to this developing area of the law.

[6] Notwithstanding Lord Reed’s challenging comment this week in the Scottish UNCRC case [2021] UKSC 42 at [50].

[7] Lord Hope in Jackson at [107].

[8] Mark Elliott and Kirsty Hughes (eds), Common Law Constitutional Rights (Bloomsbury 2020); UNISON; A v BBC [2014] UKSC 25; [2015] AC 588.

Unreasonable Credit?

Posted on by
Reply

Recent weeks have seen a lot of media focus on Universal Credit. The Government’s decision to bring to an end the £20-per-week uplift to the benefit, introduced in response to the early phase of the Covid-19 crisis, has been widely criticised by poverty charities, Conservative backbenchers and former welfare ministers, and even the UN-appointed special rapporteur on extreme poverty, Olivier De Schutter, who referred to the move as “unconscionable” and suggested it might breach the UK’s international human rights obligations.

On 7 July 2021, the day that the decision to scrap the uplift from the end of September was announced, the prime minister appeared before the House of Commons Liaison Committee, where he defended the move by arguing that the Government’s focus “has got to be on getting people in work and getting people into jobs, and that is what we are doing” [Q73]. However, the Department for Work and Pensions’ own figures for July reveal that just over 40% of claimants are already in work. In the same month, around 22% of claimants had no work requirements attached to their claim, a status typically reserved for people who are long-term disabled or have full-time caring responsibilities.

The prime minister’s rhetoric, suggesting a binary choice between claiming Universal Credit and working, is indicative of a widespread and deeply entrenched misconception about welfare claimants. Moreover, such misconceptions are not of merely abstract concern. They can have tangible implications for the direction of government social security policies, setting up false choices between serving the interests of taxpayers on the one hand and benefits claimants on the other, as Boris Johnson suggested in Prime Minister’s Questions last week. In fact, many benefits claimants are also taxpayers.

In addition to being in the news more often over the past eighteen months, Universal Credit has also been in the courts. A number of recent and ongoing judicial review challenges against different aspects of the current benefits regime have not only called into question whether the system is meeting its stated objectives, but also raised wider political and philosophical questions about the role of social security in society. In the interests of brevity, I will focus on three cases. The first concerns the calculation of housing costs under Universal Credit for tenants who pay their rent on a weekly basis, the second the mechanism for claiming childcare costs under the current system, and the third the decision to exclude claimants on legacy benefits from the £20-per-week Universal Credit uplift during the Covid-19 pandemic.

How can a year have 53 weeks? This question was central to R (on the application of Caine) v Secretary of State for Work and Pensions [2020] EWHC 2482 (Admin), [2020] 9 WLUK 273, which concerned the mechanism by which housing costs are calculated under Schedule 4 of the Universal Credit Regulations 2013 (SI 2013/376).

One of the key features of Universal Credit when it was first introduced was that it was paid monthly in arrears, rather than weekly or fortnightly, as had been the case with most legacy benefits. This was designed to mimic the world of work, in keeping with the government’s aim of encouraging and supporting claimants back into employment. One of the side effects of the decision to pay claimants a month in arrears was the much-debated five-week wait for the first payment for new claimants. However, this frequency of payment also created a less widely acknowledged issue for many claimants in receipt of the housing costs component of Universal Credit.

Schedule 4, paragraph 7(2) of the Universal Credit Regulations provides a formula for calculating how much money claimants should be entitled to each month in housing costs. For claimants who pay their rent on a weekly basis, this formula involves multiplying the amount by 52 and then dividing by 12. In most financial years this will not cause any problems for claimants. However, because a 365-day year is not perfectly divisible by seven, in some financial years the day on which a tenant’s rent is payable will fall 53 times. In such years, the formula in Schedule 4, paragraph 7(2) will leave claimants one week’s housing costs worse off over the course of 12 months.

In Caine v SSWP, the claimant challenged this conversion formula as being both irrational and unlawful under Article 14 of the European Convention on Human Rights, when read in conjunction with Article 1 of Protocol 1. She submitted that the policy unfairly discriminated against tenants who paid their rent on a weekly rather than a monthly basis.

Her challenge was dismissed on both grounds. On irrationality, Mr Justice Knowles held that the formula was not irrational because “the Universal Credit Regulations were not intended or designed to reimburse a tenant for every penny she spends on housing costs, but were only intended to provide a contribution towards them” and could therefore be said to be operating as they were intended to [206]. On the challenge under Article 14, while he noted that even a small shortfall in the amount payable under Universal Credit could be of great significance for people on very low incomes, he found that the interference with claimants’ rights was not disproportionate to the legitimate aims of consistency and simplicity, which underpinned the design of the conversion formula in the Universal Credit Regulations [224].

On the face of it, this decision might not seem very surprising. The bar that must be cleared for an irrationality challenge to be successful is very high. According to Lord Diplock’s famous formulation in Council of Civil Service Unions v Minister for the Civil Service [1984] UKHL 9, [1985] AC 374, for a decision to be held to be irrational or ‘Wednesbury unreasonable’, it must be “so outrageous in its defiance of logic or of accepted moral standards that no sensible person who had applied his mind to the question to be decided could have arrived at it” [p. 410]. In cases involving proportionality reviews of restrictions on qualified rights, too, the original decision-maker is usually afforded a fairly high degree of latitude, provided they are pursuing legitimate aims (see, for example, R (Keyu) v Secretary of State for Foreign and Commonwealth Affairs [2015] UKSC 69 [2016] AC 1355, [272]).

Yet earlier this year, another High Court challenge to an aspect of the Universal Credit Regulations on very similar grounds was successful. R (on the application of Salvato) v Secretary of State for Work and Pensions [2021] EWHC 102, [2021] PTSR 1067, was a challenge brought by a single working mother, Nichola Salvato, against Universal Credit Regulations 2013, reg. 33 — the so called ‘proof of payment rule’ — whereby Universal Credit claimants have to pay for childcare costs up-front and provide proof of payment in order to be reimbursed. Like Ms Caine, Ms Salvato submitted that the regulation was irrational and also indirectly discriminatory on grounds of sex under Article 14 ECHR, read this time in conjunction with Article 8, as well as Article 1 of Protocol 1. Unlike Ms Caine, her challenge was successful on both grounds. Mr Justice Chamberlain held that a rule which required proof of payment, rather than proof of liability to pay, in order to secure reimbursement for childcare costs was “antithetical to one of the underlying principles of the overall scheme”, that of supporting claimants with children into work, and was therefore irrational [177d]. Moreover, he held that such a system was incompatible with Article 14, since there was no evidence that ministers had considered the ‘liability to pay’ model as an alternative method of achieving their legitimate aims, and the infringement on benefits claimants’ rights was therefore disproportionate [174].

Given how infrequently decisions are found to have met the threshold for irrationality in judicial review proceedings and how reluctant the courts usually are to be seen as making politicised judgments, this ruling on a flagship Government policy seems surprisingly radical. Although, it should be noted that the Court of Appeal has since heard an appeal by DWP in this case and its judgment has not yet been handed down.

Even were the Court of Appeal’s judgment in Salvato v SSWP not currently pending, it would be dangerous to try to extrapolate too much from just two cases. Yet the contrasting outcomes in Caine v SSWP and Salvato v SSWP do raise some interesting questions about what choices by ministers over the design of the benefits system may be deemed to be so outside the realms of logic or accepted moral standards as to be irrational in the eyes of the law. Might it be that the courts are more willing to find that a decision about welfare payments is irrational or a disproportionate infringement on claimants’ rights where it directly affects their ability to seek or secure employment? If so, could this reflect the fact that ministers and the public are more comfortable with the idea of a benefits system which promotes the search for work and disincentivises long-term dependency?

These questions are also raised in the final ongoing case that I wish to briefly touch upon. It is another Article 14 claim, this time by two people in receipt of Employment Support Allowance, one on Jobseekers’ Allowance and one on Income Support. It was granted permission by the High Court in a decision dated 27 April 2021, with a substantive hearing scheduled for 28–29 September 2021. The Claimants are challenging the government’s decision not to extend the £20-per-week Universal Credit uplift to people on legacy benefits, arguing that they were unlawfully denied £1040 per year, to which they should have been entitled. If the claim is successful, then millions of legacy benefit claimants could be entitled to substantial back-payments. A spokesperson for DWP has responded that “it has always been the case that claimants on legacy benefits can make a claim for universal credit if they believe that they will be better off.”

This challenge highlights open questions about what the primary purpose of the Universal Credit uplift was. One obvious answer is that it was designed to support people who had lost their jobs due to Covid-19. There is some polling evidence to suggest that public attitudes towards welfare claimants softened somewhat during the first wave of the pandemic, before hardening again in the summer of 2020, according to a report by major national research project Welfare at a (Social) Distance. Within this overall picture, however, the researchers found evidence of what they termed ‘Covid exceptionalism’, with survey respondents more likely to say that people who lost their jobs specifically due to the pandemic were not to blame for being out of work. The polling data seems to indicate that stereotypes about the ‘deserving’ and ‘undeserving’ poor persisted throughout the crisis, and it may be these stereotypes in part which motivated the decision to confine the £20-per-week uplift to those claiming Universal Credit, a conditional benefit with a particular focus on moving people back into work, as opposed to people on long-term disability benefits.

None of this is to suggest that the courts share the view that some welfare claimants are inherently more deserving than others. Rather, if such an assumption can be argued to underpin aspects of government welfare policy, it might also influence which individual policy decisions are to be regarded as rational or irrational on their own terms. The cases touched on very briefly here all raise questions about whether the primary role of benefits in society is as a stop-gap to support people back into work, or a longer-term solution to guarantee everyone a decent standard of living. For as long as that question remains current, we are likely to see tricky legal questions around the administration of Universal Credit and other benefits making their way through the courts.

What I have been watching this week…

This weekend I was lucky enough to score a free ticket to a matinee performance of Hamilton in the West End. Being back in a theatre for a live performance for the first time since before the pandemic was quite a thrill, and the show itself was every bit as intelligent, funny, and joyous as I’d hoped it would be. I feel like I’d have to listen to it through several more times to properly pick up on all the jokes and references, but I especially enjoyed the sly dig at modern electoral politics when one member of the ensemble suggested that the infamous Aaron Burr seemed like someone “you could grab a beer with”.