Secret "justice" is nothing of the sort

Plans for secret courts in Britain would keep abuses secret too.

Judges often look at a person’s intention to understand the true meaning of their actions. A similar approach is needed with the controversial Security and Justice bill, which the House of Lords will begin reviewing on Tuesday (June 19).

The widely criticized bill would widen the use of secret hearings in the civil courts whenever national security grounds are invoked, excluding the person affected and his or her lawyer from the courtroom, thereby undermining a basic principle of justice: the ability to know the case against you. The bill would also prevent disclosure of material showing UK involvement in wrongdoing by other countries.

Notable opponents of the plans include most of the lawyers who act in secret hearings (known as “special advocates”) who are well placed to understand how such hearings undermine fairness. They are barred under current rules from consulting with the person on whose behalf they are supposed to be acting, or that person’s lawyers, about the secret part of the case.

Earlier proposals from the government to permit inquests into suspicious deaths to be held in secret and to allow secret hearings on even broader “public interest” grounds have thankfully been dropped, although opinion is divided on whether their original inclusion was merely a negotiating tactic.

The government’s intentions can be traced back to July 2010, when the Prime Minister first announced the proposals, alongside plans for an inquiry into UK complicity in torture and rendition, and changes to the guidance given to security services about interrogating suspects held outside the UK.

The announcement came after a series of embarrassing revelations under the previous government about UK knowledge and involvement in US and other government’s abuses against British citizens and residents in Guantanamo Bay, Pakistan and elsewhere.

The decision to hold an inquiry made all the headlines, and was welcomed at the time by Human Rights Watch and other NGOs. But when the terms of reference for the inquiry were made public in July 2011 it became clear that the government was not prepared to give the inquiry the independence and authority it needed to get to the truth, leading to a boycott by NGOs and lawyers. In January 2012 it was scrapped, with a commitment to hold a fresh inquiry at a later date.

The secret justice plans drew less attention at the time. The Prime Minister told Parliament that they were needed because the security services being “paralysed by paperwork” and Britain’s intelligence relationship with the US was being put in danger by public disclosure of US intelligence material shared with London.

But set in the context of the government’s efforts to limit its own inquiry and having seen the detail of its plans, it is evident that the government’s intention with the Justice and Security bill is to ensure that if abuses are repeated in future they will never see the light of day in British courts.

Recall how the previous Labour government fought tooth-and-nail for the British courts to prevent the publication of seven paragraphs of a court judgement in a civil case brought against the Foreign Secretary by former Guantanamo detainee Binyam Mohammed.

As his lawyers have made clear, the material that the UK sought to block had already been made public in the US courts. When it was published, the real reason for the strength of the government’s objections became clear – the paragraphs showed that the UK knew early on that Binyam Mohammed was being tortured, a deeply embarrassing revelation.

The bill does contain one welcome element. The MPs and Lords who sit on the body that oversees the security services will now be appointed by parliament rather than the Prime Minister as now.

But the Intelligence and Security Committee (ISC) will otherwise remain toothless, with the Prime Minister able to veto investigations or block publication of material on broad grounds, and without the committee having the power to compel witnesses and evidence as the US Senate Intelligence Committee has. The Lords should use the bill as an opportunity to strengthen the oversight powers of the ISC.

Evidence continues to mount that the UK government was complicity in torture and rendition overseas. Last September, Human Rights Watch found evidence in Tripoli linking the British security services to the rendition of two Libyan men and a woman into the hands of the Gadaffi regime and the likely torture of the two men. Those cases are now rightly the subject of ongoing criminal investigations in the UK (the stated reason for halting the Gibson Inquiry).

The Libya cases are also the subject of civil suits against former UK government officials and the UK government itself. Those cases are an important measure of accountability and bulwark against future abuse. Yet if the government gets its way with this bill, such cases will be held behind closed doors, the victims and their lawyers, journalist and the public excluded. That is no justice at all.

Former Guantanamo detainee Binyam Mohammed speaks. With these plans, his story would be depressingly commonplace. Photograph: Getty Images

 

Benjamin Ward is deputy director in Human Rights Watch’s Europe and Central Asia division

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Erdogan’s purge was too big and too organised to be a mere reaction to the failed coup

There is a specific word for the melancholy of Istanbul. The city is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. 

Even at the worst of times Istanbul is a beautiful city, and the Bosphorus is a remarkable stretch of sea. Turks get very irritated if you call it a river. They are right. The Bosphorus has a life and energy that a river could never equal. Spend five minutes watching the Bosphorus and you can understand why Orhan Pamuk, Turkey’s Nobel laureate for literature, became fixated by it as he grew up, tracking the movements of the ocean-going vessels, the warships and the freighters as they steamed between Asia and Europe.

I went to an Ottoman palace on the Asian side of the Bosphorus, waiting to interview the former prime minister Ahmet Davu­toglu. He was pushed out of office two months ago by President Recep Tayyip Erdogan when he appeared to be too wedded to the clauses in the Turkish constitution which say that the prime minister is the head of government and the president is a ceremonial head of state. Erdogan was happy with that when he was prime minister. But now he’s president, he wants to change the constitution. If Erdogan can win the vote in parliament he will, in effect, be rubber-stamping the reality he has created since he became president. In the days since the attempted coup, no one has had any doubt about who is the power in the land.

 

City of melancholy

The view from the Ottoman palace was magnificent. Beneath a luscious, pine-shaded garden an oil tanker plied its way towards the Black Sea. Small ferries dodged across the sea lanes. It was not, I hasten to add, Davutoglu’s private residence. It had just been borrowed, for the backdrop. But it reminded a Turkish friend of something she had heard once from the AKP, Erdogan’s ruling party: that they would not rest until they were living in the apartments with balconies and gardens overlooking the Bosphorus that had always been the preserve of the secular elite they wanted to replace.

Pamuk also writes about hüzün, the melancholy that afflicts the citizens of Istanbul. It comes, he says, from the city’s history and its decline, the foghorns on the Bosphorus, from tumbledown walls that have been ruins since the fall of the Byzantine empire, unemployed men in tea houses, covered women waiting for buses that never come, pelting rain and dark evenings: the city’s whole fabric and all the lives within it. “My starting point,” Pamuk wrote, “was the emotion that a child might feel while looking through a steamy window.”

Istanbul is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. In Pamuk’s work the citizens of Istanbul take a perverse pride in hüzün. No one in Istanbul, or elsewhere in Turkey, can draw comfort from what is happening now. Erdogan’s opponents wonder what kind of future they can have in his Turkey. I think I sensed it, too, in the triumphalist crowds of Erdogan supporters that have been gathering day after day since the coup was defeated.

 

Down with the generals

Erdogan’s opponents are not downcast because the coup failed; a big reason why it did was that it had no public support. Turks know way too much about the authoritarian ways of military rule to want it back. The melancholy is because Erdogan is using the coup to entrench himself even more deeply in power. The purge looks too far-reaching, too organised and too big to have been a quick reaction to the attempt on his power. Instead it seems to be a plan that was waiting to be used.

Turkey is a deeply unhappy country. It is hard to imagine now, but when the Arab uprisings happened in 2011 it seemed to be a model for the Middle East. It had elections and an economy that worked and grew. When I asked Davutoglu around that time whether there would be a new Ottoman sphere of influence for the 21st century, he smiled modestly, denied any such ambition and went on to explain that the 2011 uprisings were the true succession to the Ottoman empire. A century of European, and then American, domination was ending. It had been a false start in Middle Eastern history. Now it was back on track. The people of the region were deciding their futures, and perhaps Turkey would have a role, almost like a big brother.

Turkey’s position – straddling east and west, facing Europe and Asia – is the key to its history and its future. It could be, should be, a rock of stability in a desperately un­stable part of the world. But it isn’t, and that is a problem for all of us.

 

Contagion of war

The coup did not come out of a clear sky. Turkey was in deep crisis before the attempt was made. Part of the problem has come from Erdogan’s divisive policies. He has led the AKP to successive election victories since it first won in 2002. But the policies of his governments have not been inclusive. As long as his supporters are happy, the president seems unconcerned about the resentment and opposition he is generating on the other side of politics.

Perhaps that was inevitable. His mission, as a political Islamist, was to change the country, to end the power of secular elites, including the army, which had been dominant since Mustafa Kemal Atatürk created modern Turkey after the collapse of the Ottoman empire. And there is also the influence of chaos and war in the Middle East. Turkey has borders with Iraq and Syria, and is deeply involved in their wars. The borders do not stop the contagion of violence. Hundreds of people have died in the past year in bomb attacks in Turkish cities, some carried out by the jihadists of so-called Islamic State, and some sent by Kurdish separatists working under the PKK.

It is a horrible mix. Erdogan might be able to deal with it better if he had used the attempted coup to try to unite Turkey. All the parliamentary parties condemned it. But instead, he has turned the power of the state against his opponents. More rough times lie ahead.

Jeremy Bowen is the BBC’s Middle East editor. He tweets @bowenbbc

This article first appeared in the 28 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Summer Double Issue