The Twitter Joke Trial carries on

Paul Chambers is going to the High Court.

Paul Chambers has announced that he is seeking to go to the High Court to challenge his conviction under section 127 of the Communications Act 2003.

He has instructed me to put the challenge together and I have, in turn, instructed Ben Emmerson QC, the leading human rights and criminal law barrister. The barristers who fought the Crown Court appeal -- Stephen Ferguson and Sarah Przybylska -- continue to be involved. There has been legal help from a number of other firms and individuals. This is a case which has attracted a great deal of support and offers of practical assistance.

Why? After all, it was just a £350 fine (although now with prosecution costs, Paul is being asked to pay £2,600). And there has been no custodial sentence.

But the case continues to cause concern about and widespread ridicule of the English criminal justice system. Writers as accomplished as Graham Linehan, Charlie Brooker, and Nick Cohen have brilliantly exposed the misconceived and illiberal nature of this prosecution and of the upheld conviction. And, although neither Paul nor I have encouraged the "#IAmSpartacus" movement (I personally prefer the use of the Betjeman line about dropping bombs on Slough), it is perhaps significant that Paul's original tweet or variations of it seems now to have been tweeted over 18,000 times. However, it appears that only Paul will incur criminal liability for the words in question.

Paul's original tweet was the hyperbolic statement of exasperation of someone discovering that he may not get to see a girl he fancied. It was not intended to be menacing, and indeed it was not menacing.

Look at the tweet carefully: "Crap! Robin Hood airport is closed. You've got a week and a bit to get your shit together otherwise I'm blowing the airport sky high!". From the very first word -- an expletive followed by an exclamation mark -- it is clear to any reader that it was not serious. The proposition which follows -- an emphatic and sweary call for an airport to be opened rather than for it to be closed -- is simply nonsensical as a threat on its own terms. This is not how a terrorist, a hoaxer, or anyone with any menacing intent, would actually make their wrongful statements

At the trial and the appeal, it became clear that no one did find it menacing.

The airport security manager who found it on a random search of Twitter did not know whether it was a jest or not; his manager graded it as having no credibility, but was process-bound to forward it to the airport police; the police saw it as so menacing that they waited three days before acting on it and then, after interviewing Paul, simply said there was no evidence that it was any more than a joke intended just for his Twitter followers; however, the police passed any charging decision on to the Crown Prosecution Service, who quickly realised there was insufficient evidence of intent for the "bomb hoax" offence under the 1977 Criminal Law Act.

So the CPS used the then obscure section 127 of the Communications Act, for which there are no recorded cases other than in respect of nuisance telephone calls, and baldly asserted that the provision now covered communications on social media as well. The CPS turned up to court and told the magistrate and the defence that not only did section 127 cover social media, but that it was also an offence of "strict liability" which required no evidence of intent. (The CPS now accept that the offence does require proof of intent, but one wonders if the prosecution would have proceeded had they realised that at the time.)

The Magistrates' and Crown Courts then found Paul's tweet to be menacing and that he intended to send a menacing communication. They also found that section 127 covers messages sent on a social media platform as much as it would cover nuisance telephone calls. The challenge to be brought by Paul and his legal team at the High Court will seek to establish whether the criminal courts applied the correct legal tests for whether the message was menacing and whether it was sent with any menacing intent; the challenge will also seek to clarify the extent (if any) to which section 127 applies to messages created in and published on social media platforms. It has the makings of a landmark judgment regardless of its outcome: like the Lady Chatterley or Oz trials of previous generations, this case perhaps forces the question as to whether the law has kept up with wider social and cultural changes.

It is brave of Paul to take this case forward. If he loses he faces the upholding of a criminal conviction and the continuance of a criminal record. He is also exposed, if he loses, to the legal costs of the other side. There has been a great deal of generous support for Paul. In part this is because he is clearly a decent bloke placed in an unfair and adverse predicament for a mere exasperated tweet which not a single person whatsoever has yet found menacing.

But there is also a wider battle. English criminal law and practice now appears to have an unfortunate and casual attitude to imposing criminal liability and even using the power of arrest for simple speech acts. As social media is used more and more for everyday communication, this inappropriate use of criminality and of the coercive force of the police has to be somehow checked and the value of routine free expression asserted and endorsed.

To his and other people's surprise, Paul has become the everyman of the social media generation. For there, but for the grace of a god, go almost all of us.

 

David Allen Green is legal correspondent of the New Statesman and was shortlisted for the George Orwell prize for blogging in 2010. He is also head of the media law practice at Preiskel & Co, who are acting on a cost-only basis for Paul Chambers in his High Court challenge.

 

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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In defence of orientalism, the case against Twenty20, and why Ken should watch Son of Saul

My week, from Age Concern to anti-semitism.

Returning late from a party I never much wanted to go to, I leap up and down in the middle of the Harrow Road in the hope of flagging down a taxi, but the drivers don’t notice me. Either they’re haring down the fast lane or they’re too preoccupied cursing Uber to one another on their mobile phones. My father drove a black cab, so I have a deep loyalty to them. But there’s nothing like being left stranded in NW10 in the dead of night to make one reconsider one’s options. I just wish Uber wasn’t called Uber.

Just not cricket

Tired and irritable, I spend the next day watching sport on television – snooker, darts, cricket, anything I can find. But I won’t be following the Indian Premier League’s Twenty20 cricket again. It’s greedy, cynical, over-sponsored and naff. Whenever somebody hits a boundary, cheerleaders in cast-off gym kit previously worn by fourth-form Roedean girls wave tinsel mops.

Matches go to the final over where they’re decided in a thrashathon of sixes hit by mercenaries wielding bats as wide as shovels. Why, in that case, don’t both teams just play a final over each and dispense with the previous 19? I can’t wait for the elegant ennui of a five-day Test match.

Stop! Culture police!

I go to the Delacroix exhibition at the National Gallery to shake off the sensation of all-consuming kitsch. Immediately I realise I have always confused Delacroix with someone else but I can’t decide who. Maybe Jacques-Louis David. The show convincingly argues that Delacroix influenced every artist who came after him except Jeff Koons, who in that case must have been influenced by David. It’s turbulent, moody work, some of the best of it, again to my surprise, being religious painting with the religion taken out. Christ’s followers lamenting his death don’t appear to be expecting miracles. This is a man they loved, cruelly executed. The colours are the colours of insupportable grief.

I love the show but wish the curators hadn’t felt they must apologise for Delacroix finding the North Africans he painted “exotic”. Cultural studies jargon screams from the wall. You can hear the lecturer inveighing against the “appropriating colonial gaze” – John Berger and Edward Said taking all the fun out of marvelling at what’s foreign and desirable. I find myself wondering where they’d stand on the Roedean cheer-leaders of Mumbai.

Taking leave of the senses

My wife drags me to a play at Age Concern’s headquarters in Bloomsbury. When I see where she’s taking me I wonder if she plans to leave me there. The play is called Don’t Leave Me Now and is written by Brian Daniels. It is, to keep it simple, about the effects of dementia on the families and lovers of sufferers. I am not, in all honesty, expecting a good time. It is a reading only, the actors sitting in a long line like a board of examiners, and the audience hunched forward in the attitude of the professionally caring.  My wife is a therapist so this is her world.

Here, unlike in my study, an educated empathy prevails and no one is furious. I fear that art is going to get lost in good intention. But the play turns out to be subtly powerful, sympathetic and sharp, sad and funny; and hearing it read engages me as seeing it performed might not have done. Spared the spectacle of actors throwing their bodies around and singing about their dreams against a backdrop painted by a lesser, Les Mis version of Delacroix, you can concentrate on the words. And where dementia is the villain, words are priceless.

Mixing with the proles

In Bloomsbury again the next day for a bank holiday design and craft fair at Mary Ward House. I have a soft spot for craft fairs, having helped run a craft shop once, and I feel a kinship with the designers sitting bored behind their stalls, answering inane questions about kilns and receiving empty compliments. But it’s the venue that steals the show, a lovely Arts and Crafts house, founded in the 1890s by the novelist Mary Ward with the intention of enabling the wealthy and educated to live among the poor and introduce them to the consolations of beauty and knowledge. We’d call that patronising. We’re wrong. It’s a high ideal, to ease the burden of poverty and ignorance and, in Ward’s words, save us from “the darker, coarser temptations of our human road”.

An Oscar-winning argument for Zionism

Speaking of which, I am unable to empty my mind of Ken Livingstone and his apologists as I sit in the cinema and watch the just-released Academy Award-winning Son of Saul, a devastating film about one prisoner’s attempt to hold on to a vestige of humanity in a Nazi death camp. If you think you know of hell from Dante or Michelangelo, think again. The inferno bodied forth in Son of Saul is no theological apportioning of justice or deserts. It is the evisceration of meaning, the negation of every grand illusion about itself mankind has ever harboured. There has been a fashion, lately, to invoke Gaza as proof that the Holocaust is a lesson that Jews failed to learn – as though one cruelty drives out another, as though suffering is forfeit, and as though we, the observers, must choose between horrors.

I defy even Livingstone to watch this film, in which the Jews, once gassed, become “pieces” – Stücke – and not grasp the overwhelming case for a Jewish place of refuge. Zionism pre-dated the camps, and its fulfilment, if we can call it that, came too late for those millions reduced to the grey powder mountains the Sonderkommandos were tasked with sweeping away. It diminishes one’s sympathy for the Palestinian cause not a jot to recognise the arguments, in a world of dehumanising hate, for Zionism. Indeed, not to recognise those arguments is to embrace the moral insentience whose murderous consequence Son of Saul confronts with numbed horror. 

This article first appeared in the 05 May 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The longest hatred