Cat-call politics is back

Every so often, a generation of politicians becomes afflicted by a rapidly setting form of collective amnesia, as they forget why a key piece of legislation exists in the first place. The Human Rights Act is one example. It’s not yet clear what its fate will be, but it’s another excuse to talk about immigration.

There’s something about discussing immigration in the UK which does more to uphold the image of the British as a nation of eccentrics than an episode of Monty Python’s Flying Circus. Something about it touches a nerve so that it becomes responsible for much unhinged ‘debate’. The Home Secretary delivered another of these crazy interludes when she claimed, while making her case against the Act, that an illegal immigrant could not be deported “because he had a pet cat”.

The tradition of Britain standing up for human rights goes back at least to the Second World War - during which fascism and communism had been responsible for some of the twentieth century’s worst atrocities. Hats off to the relative sanity of Justice Secretary, Ken Clarke, who responded by wagering a bet with May that nothing of the sort ever happened. Recalling how Britain led the way in drawing up the European Convention on Human Rights, Clarke echoed a more serious politics.

I’ve a feeling that the abolition of the Human Rights Act is just mood music to placate rowdy Tory backbenchers, frothing at the mouth at perceived concessions to Liberal Democrats. We are still in conference season. Ideas are floated, dismissed, chewed over. David Cameron knows that any real attempt to rip this particular statute would be terminal for the Coalition, and worse, the prospect of minority government. Like other things which this government has told us it is against, the intention to do so something does not necessarily mean it will happen while it relies on Liberal Democrat votes.

Even May’s own department claimed that the pet defence did not have a role to play in the decision not to deport the man in question. So, don’t bet on it becoming a common factor in immigrants pleading with the UK Borders Agency in future. Aside from the odd parrot or two, how many innocent cats, dogs, guinea pigs or hamsters could we really expect to construct a defence of their owner’s right to stay in the UK? That’s cat-call politics for you.

A slight smell of justice

I’ve experienced a welcome change of scenery this week by participating in something I’ve always wanted to do - being called to do jury service. My ‘number’ had come up just after Christmas –perfect timing for me as a trainee journalist. And so, on Monday morning I duly presented myself at a central London Crown Court expecting to get stuck into some nice juicy cases.

For obvious reasons I can’t go into too much detail about what went on in the courtroom itself. Last term’s module on media law with the irrepressible John Battle of ITN gave me a reasonably good overview of what I can and can’t say about a court case, so I’m not going to be tempted to break any laws this early in my career. If you’re interested in what the juror’s experience generally entails, the HMCS website is actually pretty good at preparing you for what to expect. But it doesn’t prepare you for what appears to be a remarkably inefficient system of selecting jurors, once you’ve turned up. I suppose there must be some sort of logic to their system, but I didn’t sit on a single case on Monday, presumably because there were just too many people available. Maybe this is a good thing, as judges are not the sort of people you keep waiting because there aren’t enough jurors (as we found out – read on). I ended up spending a full day back at work before being called back.

Yet it’s still a tight ship. The administration of justice is well organised, with a formidable jury officer, whose matriarchal yet terrifying demeanour strikes the right balance between making sure people are welcomed and keeping the place running to time as far as possible.

Back in court today, I had hoped there would be a little more excitement. I was eventually called just before lunch to sit on a case which, although relatively minor, had made it all the way to Crown Court – costing the taxpayer over £4,000 according to an irritated judge. One person who might have had something to say about that was none other than Harriet Harman, who turned heads when she arrived in the jurors’ assembly area earlier. It made me realise what an egalitarian duty jury service is - even the Deputy Leader of the Labour Party can’t get out of it. I suspect she probably enjoyed a visit back to her roots (she’s a former solicitor after all), and she appeared to be busying herself with constituency business during the downtime.

For what it’s worth, today’s trial was resolved remarkably quickly, after a few hiccups. A point of law and faulty audio-visuals held up the trial for two hours. Then, after lunch, an overpowering smell of what seemed to be paraffin began to give everyone a headache, so we rose again. The usher had warned us that the antiquated building suffered from a lack of fresh air which might send us to sleep, but I wasn’t quite expecting this. It turned out to be an infiltration of fumes into the air-conditioning system, caused by nearby builders putting new asphalt onto a roof. And to top it all, a late juror prompted stern words from the judge.

As we sat for the third time, the defendant changed his plea to guilty, incurring the wrath of the judge and no doubt the court staff, who knew that had he done so at an earlier stage, taxpayers’ money would not have been spent needlessly and the case could have been heard in a magistrates’ court. If the clapped out building and defunct equipment were anything to go by, they need every last penny.