Will a weak compromise on control orders trigger rebellion?

David Davis criticises “control orders lite” as coalition prepares to announce new measures.

The Home Secretary, Theresa May, is set to unveil a series of measures to replace the controversial "control orders" currently placed indefinitely on terror suspects who cannot be prosecuted.

For months, the government has been involved in a tug-of-war over the issue, with MPs from all three parties arguing strongly for their retention or abolition. It has been particularly contentious for the coalition, with David Cameron reportedly describing negotiations as a "fucking car crash" last year.

The measures to be announced today will essentially amount to a face-saving exercise – while Nick Clegg fought the election pledging to abolish control orders, May has faced pressure from the security services and authoritarian voices in her party to retain them.

What is expected is a compromise package of measures, including overnight residence requirements from 10pm to 8am – though Clegg will be able to claim progress, as the 16-hour curfews that critics called "virtual house arrest" will end. Electric tagging will continue, although current restrictions on access to the internet and phones will be eased, as will bans on working and being educated.

In scenes reminiscent of George Orwell's "newspeak", officials are reportedly attempting to come up with a new name that is neither "control order" nor "surveillance order", but conveys the need for pre-emptive action. "Restriction order" is said to be one possibility. As the newly appointed shadow home secretary, Yvette Cooper, pointed out, they "look a lot like control orders".

While any softening of these restrictive and undemocratic orders is a good thing, the fundamental problem has not been addressed – namely, that people are in effect imprisoned without trial and without being told what their crime is.

Writing in the Times (£) today, the renegade Tory MP David Davis, who first signalled his opposition to control orders last year, summarises this position:

The greatest single problem with control orders is that they have become a substitute for the judicial process, whose primary aim is to prosecute and put terrorists in prison.

Many of these problems would vanish if control orders were brought within the normal judicial process, as a form of police bail. It is not unusual in criminal proceedings, while the police are collecting evidence, for courts to allow various restraints on suspects – for them to be restricted from associating with other criminals, or to have to stay in the country. This is justifiable as part of prosecuting a crime and because it is part of an open, rather than a shadowy process. We should implement such a procedure for terrorism cases as a replacement for control orders. If we did, nobody could accuse us of dropping our commitment to the rule of law.

The thrust of his argument is remarkably concordant with the Lib Dem manifesto, which stated: "The best way to combat terrorism is to prosecute terrorists, not give away hard-won British freedoms." As a New Statesman leader pointed out last year, there is a clear, liberal alternative: allowing intercept evidence in court so that terrorism suspects can be prosecuted.

Back in November, Davis told the BBC that 25 Lib Dem MPs and possibly as many Tories would vote against retaining control orders under any guise. Could the coalition be about to face its first major rebellion?

Samira Shackle is a freelance journalist, who tweets @samirashackle. She was formerly a staff writer for the New Statesman.

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We argue over Charlie Gard, but forget those spending whole lives caring for a disabled child

The everyday misery of care work is hidden behind abstract arguments over life and death.

“Sometimes,” says the mother, “I wish we’d let him go. Or that he’d just been allowed to slip away.” The father agrees, sometimes. So too does the child, who is not a child any more.

On good days, nobody thinks this way, but not all days are good. There have been bright spots during the course of the past four decades, occasional moments of real hope, but now everyone is tired, everyone is old and the mundane work of loving takes a ferocious toll.

When we talk about caring for sick children, we usually mean minors. It’s easiest that way. That for some parents, the exhaustion and intensity of those first days with a newborn never, ever ends – that you can be in your fifties, sixties, seventies, caring for a child in their twenties, thirties, forties – is not something the rest of us want to think about.

It’s hard to romanticise devotion strung out over that many hopeless, sleepless nights. Better to imagine the tragic mother holding on to the infant who still fits in her loving arms, not the son who’s now twice her size, himself edging towards middle-age and the cliff edge that comes when mummy’s no longer around.

Writing on the tragic case of Charlie Gard, the Guardian’s Giles Fraser claims that he would “rain fire on the whole world to hold my child for a day longer”. The Gard case, he argues, has “set the cool rational compassion of judicial judgement and clinical expertise against the passion of parental love”: “Which is why those who have never smelled the specific perfume of Charlie’s neck, those who have never held him tight or wept and prayed over his welfare, are deemed better placed to determine how he is to live and die.”

This may be true. It may also be true that right now, countless parents who have smelled their own child’s specific perfume, held them tightly, wept for them, loved them beyond all measure, are wishing only for that child’s suffering to end. What of their love? What of their reluctance to set the world aflame for one day more? And what of their need for a life of their own, away from the fantasies of those who’ll passionately defend a parent’s right to keep their child alive but won’t be there at 5am, night after night, cleaning out feeding tubes and mopping up shit?

Parental – in particular, maternal – devotion is seen as an endlessly renewable resource. A real parent never gets tired of loving. A real parent never wonders whether actually, all things considered, it might have caused less suffering for a child never to have been born at all. Such thoughts are impermissible, not least because they’re dangerous. Everyone’s life matters. Nonetheless, there are parents who have these thoughts, not because they don’t love their children, but because they do.

Reporting on the Gard case reminds me of the sanitised image we have of what constitutes the life of a parent of a sick child. It’s impossible not to feel enormous compassion for Charlie’s parents. As the mother of a toddler, I know that in a similar situation I’d have been torn apart. It’s not difficult to look at photos of Charlie and imagine one’s own child in his place. All babies are small and helpless; all babies cry out to be held.

But attitudes change as children get older. In the case of my own family, I noticed a real dropping away of support for my parents and disabled brother as the latter moved into adulthood. There were people who briefly picked him up as a kind of project and then, upon realising that there would be no schmaltzy ending to the story, dropped him again. Love and compassion don’t conquer all, patience runs out and dignity is clearly best respected from a distance.

All too often, the everyday misery of care work is hidden behind abstract arguments over who gets the right to decide whether an individual lives or dies. I don’t know any parents who truly want that right. Not only would it be morally untenable, it’s also a misrepresentation of what their struggles really are and mean.

What many parents who remain lifelong carers need is adequate respite support, a space in which to talk honestly, and the recognition that actually, sometimes loving is a grim and hopeless pursuit. Those who romanticise parental love – who, like Fraser, wallow in heroic portrayals of “battling, devoted parents” – do nothing to alleviate the suffering of those whose love mingles with resentment, exhaustion and sheer loneliness.

There are parents out there who, just occasionally, would be willing to set the world on fire to have a day’s respite from loving. But regardless of whether your child lives or dies, love never ends. 

Glosswitch is a feminist mother of three who works in publishing.