An Open Letter to Jeremy Corbyn

Dear Mr Corbyn

I write to you as my constituency MP, to urge you to use your vote in the House of Commons to block the invocation of Article 50 of the Lisbon Treaty, and so prevent the disaster that Brexit will surely bring upon this country. You are widely respected for your work in North Islington, one of the most deprived constituencies in the UK, where you have stood up for the poor and dispossessed whose interests you have at heart. The most vulnerable will go the wall first.

The referendum result should not be seen as an unambiguous statement of the electorate’s settled will to leave the EU: it is too narrow for that interpretation; and the Leave campaign was a farrago of half-truths and downright lies, which will have deceived a fair number of voters about what Brexit would mean. If anything, the so-called ‘Project Fear’ by Remain underestimated the damage. The poorest will suffer the most. We can already see that the collapse of the currency and the stock market is sending the economy into a state of shock, perhaps recession. Investments are being suspended or stopped. Pension funds are worth less. Employers will make redundancies, and cut wages. There won’t be enough tax revenue for benefits or basic services.

Democracy is not served when the dice are loaded, as they were here, by a feral press, and by self-serving mendacious leaders. Accepting the result just because it’s a vote is not good enough in these circumstances, when so much is at stake. Your vote against Brexit in Parliament, and your ability to explain your vote, could save the country from the disaster it faces. It will save the very people who are closest to your heart, and their children and grandchildren, from years of intense uncertainty (at best) – and maybe it will even save Parliamentary democracy itself. Ask yourself this: if the Tories had offered a referendum on the death penalty, and 51.9% of the electorate voted for it, would you just accept it?

It’s not too late, even now. Please don’t let them have their way. Vote Brexit down.

 

Yours sincerely

 

Francis FitzGibbon

 

 

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An Open Letter to Michael Gove & Boris Johnson

Dear Mr Gove and Mr Johnson

I won’t question your motives: I accept you thought that Brexit was genuinely in the United Kingdom’s best interests, long and short-term.

Please look around you today: the markets here and across the world have fallen, because of Brexit, wiping billions off the value of pensions and businesses. Our international credit rating has slipped. The City is preparing for an exodus – of people and their tax revenues. The Bank of England is preparing to put £250 billion into the economy – some one will have to pay that back, one day. We have lost a Prime Minister. We have lost our EU Commissioner. The peace in Northern Ireland is at risk. Scotland may secede. The young see their horizons and opportunities closing. We are losing friends around the world.

These losses, and others we don’t yet know about, may continue, indefinitely. You cannot have wanted any of this.

The result was close – 51.9% is hardly overwhelming, not in a vote about the nation’s future, for generations to come.

Think again. It’s not too late. The protest voters have made their protest, and many are regretting it. The minority of out-and-out racists must not be allowed to dictate to the nation. We know now that you will not have £350 million per week to spend on the NHS, or anything else; we know that immigration will continue. While the exit process and the redrafting of myriad laws is underway, ordinary government will be hobbled, for years to come. The control you take back will be control of a poorer, unhappier, smaller, lonelier country.

None of this is in the national interest. Show wisdom and courage. Admit the mistake, measure the EU’s faults against the greater dangers that are already beginning to hurt us. It’s not too late. Re-engage with the EU and the member states. ‘One more such victory, and we are undone.’

Yours sincerely

 

Francis FitzGibbon

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Do You Believe Me?

The Metropolitan Police Commissioner has announced that officers investigating alleged sex offences will no longer be expected to presume that the complaints are true. That does not mean they should presume they are untrue – rather, that the officers should remain open-minded while ensuring that complainants get the police’s full support in order to give their accounts without undue stress.

‘Do you believe me?’ is the perfectly reasonable question that clients ask advocates, and which advocates dread. Answer ‘no’, and trust is gone for ever; answer ‘yes’, and you have become partisan and may find yourself seriously embarrassed later. The proper response has to be along the lines of ‘I mean no disrespect, but whether I believe you or not has nothing to do with my ability to represent you and put your case before the court as strongly as possible’. A respectful distance is essential.

What should happen – and it takes a while to learn how to do it – is suspension of one’s everyday inclination either to believe or disbelieve what some one says. The advocate should neither believe nor disbelieve; instead, you assess the account, put it in context with other evidence in the case, and look for its strengths and weaknesses. You may give your opinion on whether the tribunal will accept it, on the applicable standard of proof. Your own view of whether the account is true or not is unlikely to be a reliable guide to how others will receive it. If you form a view either way, you must put it aside. Advocates should never forget the wise words of Megarry J in John v Rees [1970] 1 Ch 345

As everybody who has anything to do with the law well knows, the path of the law is strewn with examples of open and shut cases which, somehow, were not: of unanswerable charges which, in the event, were completely answered; with inexplicable conduct which was fully explained…

 

 

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Fear No More the Heat of the Sun

Fear no more the heat o’ the sun,
Nor the furious winter’s rages;
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone and ta’en thy wages;
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

The new director of the Globe Theatre, Emma Rice, said on the Today Programme today that she was willing to cut the difficult bits from Shakespeare, and modernise some of his language. In this famous and beautiful song from Cymbeline, she replaces ‘chimney-sweepers’ with ‘dandelions’, because, she says, in the early 16th Century dandelions were called chimney-sweepers and audiences today won’t know that and won’t know chimneys were swept before the industrial revolution.

It’s not hard to see how the weed got its nickname:

 

d0696406-a7c8-4aa5-a6d2-6ad528d9ffd6Dandelion flower group against a blue sky.

 

The life of a flower is short and its shortness is poignant – a well-worked trope for the transitory nature of youth, beauty, and life itself. Children sent up narrow chimneys with their brushes were not likely to last long either.

The songs mourns the death of a golden girl. The ‘chimney-sweepers’ in it can refer to both a flower and a child at once; and can make the child a sort of flower and flower a sort of child. It’s not just one or the other and it’s not just another flower metaphor. To appreciate that this is the sort of thing that Shakespeare does is to begin to be aware of the scale of his genius – to make unseen connections, to illuminate the familiar with the less familiar. The song recognises that death comes to all: flowers, golden people, soot-covered people, and yet there’s a comfort because he calls death ‘home’ and fear is gone.

Why sacrifice the richness of ‘chimney-sweepers’ in a modern production of the play? Why make the image two dimensional instead of three? It is insulting to an audience to water down Shakespeare’s language. How difficult is it to grasp multiple meanings?

Complexity, nuance, ambiguity are to be treasured, as are ‘all things counter, original, spare, strange; Whatever is fickle, freckled…’ A simplified, binary world just of off/on, with me or against me, black and white, is a vile place.

 

 

 

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Everybody Matters

In the film Bridge of Spies, Tom Hanks plays the American lawyer James B Donovan, who defended a man accused of spying for the Soviet Union in the USA in the late 1950s. He is called unpatriotic and he receives hate mail and threats to his life. Someone fires a gun at his house. No one expects him to put much energy into the case, but he does and he fights for his client as hard as he can. When he is incredulously asked why, he just says ‘everybody matters’.

That simple phrase sums up what criminal lawyers believe in. Equality before the law is another way of putting it, but ‘everybody matters’ is better.

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Cecil Rhodes and the Proceeds of Crime

Part 7 of the Proceeds of Crime Act 2002 reformed the criminal law of money laundering. It is an offence to acquire, use have possession of, conceal, disguise, convert, or transfer the proceeds of crime, or remove them from the UK,  or to enter into or become concerned in an arrangement which you know or suspect facilitates (by whatever means) the acquisition, retention, use or control of it by or on behalf of another person. 

Many great philanthropists have done things that we would now regard as crimes, but used the proceeds for uncontestable public benefits, which long outlast their evil origins. Time will launder a reputation, but not all the stains can come out. Endowments to educational establishments tend to be the dry-cleaning solution of choice for those who desire a shiny posthumous legacy.

Thus, Cardinal Wolsey, loyal torturer of the King’s enemies in the Star Chamber, founded Christ Church, Oxford:

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Christopher Codrington’s profits from his slave plantations endowed the library at All Souls that bears his name and his statue in a heroic pose – the most beautiful place anywhere to read a book:

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The horrors of sugar cultivation by slaves in the West Indies paid for the Tate Galleries.

Remorse, guilt, the desire to redeem a sullied reputation by good works, or just personal vanity may each play a part in this type of philanthropy. Or maybe the donors and their contemporaries saw no contradictions.

Oriel College, handsomely endowed by its alumnus Cecil Rhodes, has come under fire for keeping a statue of Rhodes and a commemorative plaque on public display, and is debating what to do about them. He comes in for criticism as an aggressive empire-builder in late C19 Africa, who grew rich from diamond mining and went on to Rhodesia. His legacy includes the Rhodes scholarships – a wholly admirable system for funding exceptionally bright students from across the world to study in Oxford.

Oriel’s statement about the Rhodes issue is balanced and sensible. The College does not dismiss the complaints. It recognises that the statue and the plaque are capable of giving offence, and acknowledges that attitudes to Rhodes and his activities have changed over the years. It seeks views about what it should do.

Staying in Oxford: compare and contrast Wadham College. The sister of the last Shah of Iran gave her name and the dynasty’s dirty money to the Ashraf Pahlavi library in the 1970s. There was a monumental fuss at the time that the College was taking money from so tainted a source, while the Shah was still in power, torturing and murdering his enemies. Wadham quietly renamed it the Ferdowsi Library, after the classical Persian poet. A small uncomfortable truth was wiped away.

I think that the Oriel students are making a serious mistake by demanding the removal of Rhodes’s visible traces.  If being offended by a statue is the worst thing that has happened to them, they have no idea how lucky they are. Erasing visible signs of the past erases memory of the past. Go to Germany, and see the frequent reminders of that country’s darkest days. We all have a duty not to forget. An evil past must be remembered, not obliterated, but a legacy from an evil time may not itself be evil: whatever the motives of the donor, the gift itself can do good. The statues of Rhodes, or Codrington, should remind us that we cannot deny the truth of our historical legacies, however uncomfortable they make us feel. Better to confront them for what they are, explain their context, and point out that what drove a Rhodes or a Codrington does not drive modern institutions devoted to education and scholarship.

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Nothing Like the Sun

Dear Readers of this Blog (both of you),

Nothing Like the Sun has fallen silent lately, but only because its Onlie Begetter has been intensely busy with actual work. However, in a moment of idleness the OB was thinking (to the amazement of Mrs OB), and wondered why Nothing Like the Sun was the name of the Blog.

Well: partly because it’s nothing like The Sun: no bikini-clad lovelies, no sports coverage (yet), less frothing of the mouth…but also because of Sonnet 130:

My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips’ red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask’d, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare. 

This subtle poem is full of misgivings: how lovely is the mistress really? Would she prefer to be flattered, and how will she respond to the show of sincerity? Is the show of sincerity sincere (you are the most wonderful being, more than words can say?)? If words can’t say it, why use them? We are within sight of the relentless truth-teller Cordelia (‘Love, and be silent’): and non-flattery got her nowhere.

We use the word ‘unflattering’ to mean something less than merely veridical – it’s a put-down word. But this poem is all about being unflattering, from the point of view of the flatterer and the flatteree.

There’s comedy, too, in the reversal of expectation: but how will the beloved take to having the piss taken about her looks and even her breath? What kind of thanks would she give?

The couplet that follows 12 lines of virtuoso irony is flat, and ‘by heaven’ sounds like its trying just a bit too hard – another betrayal? I don’t believe the pious affirmation any more than what precedes it. The poem eats itself, but virtuosity is its own reward.

This gives the obvious background to a dry blog about legal affairs (matters of law, not of the heart): though the legal process can be binary in its final decisions – win/lose – the dialectical processes that get us to the decision are (should be) full of subtlety, irony, and nuance. Those are what interest me.

A world without subtlety, irony, nuance is the world of the Caliphate: you are with us, or you are dead.

 

 

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