Assange and the Supreme Court decision

The extradition of an alleged rapist comes another step nearer

The Supreme Court has decided, by a majority of 5 to 2, that the European Arrest Warrant issued in respect of Julian Assange is valid.  This means that it is highly likely that Assange will now be extradited to Sweden for questioning in respect of allegations of rape and sexual assault - allegations which he denies.

Any extradition will not be immediate.  Assange’s legal team have been given fourteen days to apply for the Supreme Court to consider argument on the application of the Vienna Convention on the Law of Treaties, which in this case may affect the class of entities which can issue the warrants.  Depending on the interpretation of the relevant part of the Vienna Convention, it may not be that a prosecutor rather than a judicial body can issue an EAW.   

Assange’s legal team contend that this point was not subject to argument at the appeal hearing at the Supreme Court.  If the Supreme Court indeed had no oral or written submissions on the Vienna Convention at all, then it would be a remarkable oversight for the judges to have then relied on it by entirely their own motion.  As only the parties and the court will currently know what was submitted in written “skeleton” arguments, it is not yet clear the extent to which the point being made here is actually a good one.    If the application of the Vienna Convention has not been subject to legal argument in this appeal then it certainly should be, as it is clear from the judgments that at least two judges in the majority relied on it in their decision. 

The leading legal blogger Carl Gardner has also set out other applications which can be used by Assange’s legal team to delay or frustrate the extradition.  The points being made on the EAW regime by Assange and his team are not without merit, and it could be for the advantage of many other people that Assange and his lawyers are forcing the formidable and often illiberal EAWs to be subjected to anxious judicial scrutiny.  It should never be the case that EAWs should be issued lightly. 

Assange and his legal team - like any defendant and their lawyer - are fully entitled to use any available means so that his legal rights can be properly asserted. 

However,  one can also be critical of Assange's litigation strategy.  Assange may be well advised to return to Sweden to answer the serious allegations of rape and sexual assault, which otherwise would remain unanswered.   Rather than sinking his scarce resources in this peripheral litigation in London, it would seem far more sensible to devote energy and money to his substantive legal defence in Sweden.  For the allegations against Assange are objectively serious, and they do require a response.  The allegations really should be responded to sooner rather than later.  And it is sickening that many who should know better seek to deride or discredit the complaints and the complainants.  (On this, see the US blogger Kate Harding's 2010 post here.)

Given that Assange and his supporters contend that the allegations have no basis then a focus on the allegations themselves, and not on points about European Arrest Warrants, would seem to be the course for a wise man rather than a clever man.

 

David Allen Green is legal correspondent of the New Statesman

David Allen Green is legal correspondent of the New Statesman and author of the Jack of Kent blog.

His legal journalism has included popularising the Simon Singh libel case and discrediting the Julian Assange myths about his extradition case.  His uncovering of the Nightjack email hack by the Times was described as "masterly analysis" by Lord Justice Leveson.

David is also a solicitor and was successful in the "Twitterjoketrial" appeal at the High Court.

(Nothing on this blog constitutes legal advice.)

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I can’t follow Marie Kondo's advice – even an empty Wotsits packet “sparks joy” in me

I thought I’d give her loopy, OCD theories a go, but when I held up an empty Wotsits bag I was suffused with so many happy memories of the time we’d spent together that I couldn’t bear to throw it away.

I have been brooding lately on the Japanese tidying freak Marie Kondo. (I forgot her name so I typed “Japanese tidying freak” into Google, and it was a great help.) The “Japanese” bit is excusable in this context, and explains a bit, as I gather Japan is more on the case with the whole “being tidy” thing than Britain, but still.

Apart from telling us that we need to take an enormous amount of care, to the point where we perform origami when we fold our underpants, which is pretty much where she lost me, she advises us to throw away anything that does not, when you hold it, “spark joy”. Perhaps I have too much joy in my life. I thought I’d give her loopy, OCD theories a go, but when I held up an empty Wotsits bag I was suffused with so many happy memories of the time we’d spent together that I couldn’t bear to throw it away.

After a while I gave up on this because I was getting a bit too happy with all the memories, so then I thought to myself, about her: “This is someone who isn’t getting laid enough,” and then I decided that was a crude and ungallant thought, and besides, who am I to wag the finger? At least if she invites someone to her bedroom no one is going to run screaming from it, as they would if I invited anyone to my boudoir. (Etym: from the French “bouder”, to sulk. How very apt in my case.) Marie Kondo – should bizarre circumstance ever conspire to bring her to the threshold – would run screaming from the Hovel before she’d even alighted the stairs from the front door.

I contemplate my bedroom. As I write, the cleaning lady is in it. To say that I have to spend half an hour cleaning out empty Wotsits packets, and indeed wotnot, before I let her in there should give you some idea of how shameful it has got. And even then I have to pay her to do so.

A girlfriend who used to be referred to often in these pages, though I think the term should be a rather less flippant one than “girlfriend”, managed to get round my natural messiness problem by inventing a game called “keep or chuck”.

She even made up a theme song for it, to the tune from the old Spiderman TV show. She would show me some object, which was not really rubbish, but usually a book (it may not surprise you to learn that it is the piles of books that cause most of the clutter here), and say, “Keep or chuck?” in the manner of a high-speed game show host. At one point I vacillated and so she then pointed at herself and said, “Keep or chuck?” I got the message.

These days the chances of a woman getting into the bedroom are remote. For one thing, you can’t just walk down the street and whistle for one much as one would hail a cab, although my daughter is often baffled by my ability to attract females, and suspects I have some kind of “mind ray”. Well, if I ever did it’s on the blink now, and not only that – right now, I’m not even particularly bothered that it’s on the blink. Because, for another thing, I would frankly not care to inflict myself upon anyone else at the moment.

It was all a bit of a giggle eight years ago, when I was wheeled out of the family home and left to my own devices. Of course, when I say “a bit of a giggle”, I mean “terrifying and miserable”, but I had rather fewer miles on the clock than I do now, and a man can, I think, get away with a little bit more scampish behaviour, and entertain a few more illusions about the future and his own plausibility as a character, when he is squarely in his mid-forties than when he is approaching, at speed, his middle fifties.

Death has rather a lot to do with it, I suppose. I had not actually seen, or touched, a dead body until I saw, and touched, my own father’s a few weeks ago. That’s what turns an abstract into a concrete reality. You finally put that to one side and gird up your loins – and then bloody David Bowie snuffs it, and you find yourself watching the videos for “Blackstar” and “Lazarus” over and over again, and reach the inescapable conclusion that death is not only incredibly unpleasant, it is also remorseless and very much nearer than you think.

And would you, dear reader, want to be involved with anyone who kept thinking along those lines? I mean, even if he learned how to fold his undercrackers into an upright cylinder, like a napkin at a fancy restaurant, before putting them in his drawer? When he doesn’t even have a drawer?

Nicholas Lezard is a literary critic for the Guardian and also writes for the Independent. He writes the Down and Out in London column for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 05 February 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Putin's war