Why did it take ten years to block the extradition of Gary McKinnon?

What you believe about the McKinnon extradition case is probably false

The Home Secretary has decided that the extradition of Gary McKinnon will not go ahead. 

Relying on the same human rights law which she has strongly criticised in the past in respect of other extradition cases, the Home Secretary has ruled that the suicide risk is such that it would be contrary to McKinnon's human rights for the extradition to proceed. 

If that is what the evidence is before the Home Secretary in respect of a suicide risk, then it was plainly the right decision for her to make, though it opens obvious questions as to whether it can be now a precedent for other extradition cases.

However, it appears that, but for this determination, the extradition would have proceeded - put another way, the legal case for McKinnon's extradition was otherwise sound.

 

But how can we best understand how the McKinnon case has taken so long to get to this stage? 

The alleged offences took place in 2001 and 2002, and based on mainstream media accounts, it just seemed such a clear injustice being inflicted on a sympathetic defendant.  

The answer, in part, is that there has long been a mismatch between the mainstream media accounts of the McKinnon case and the underlying legal facts. 

On one hand, there was an admirable, tireless, and spiritied campaign on McKinnon's behalf.  Unfortunately, one consequence of this campaign is that there were many contentions about the case which "everyone knew" even if few ever seemed to check if they were true.

On the other hand, there have been a series of legal judgments which provided a very different perspective on the case. In 2010, in a sequence of blogposts at Jack of Kent, I set out the correct legal position.  This is not to say I believed McKinnon should have been extradited; it was just to balance the media narrative on the case with a more source-based approach.  This was important as, without understanding there was a mismatch between the mainstream media version of the case with the legal realities, one could not understand why the extradition had gone on so long.

 

My survey at Jack of Kent set out a number of points which did not feature in mainstream media accounts of the case.

First, the contention that all McKinnon was doing was looking for evidence extraterrestrial life had no basis in the legal case.  UFOs played no part in the litigation whatsoever.  The UFO explanation was never provided by McKinnon or his legal team in the court cases.  In fact, McKinnon's original case was that his motives were political and he contended that political opinions should be taken so seriously that he should not be allowed to be extradited on those grounds alone.

Then there was the assertion that his offences were trivial and more the fault of lax US security.  Again, this is not supported by the legal documents.  Instead, the alleged offences are serious and were sustained over a lengthy period.  The allegations are in respect of a hacking exercise which took place over fourteen months and involving 96 computers in five US government departments, and which came to an end (it seems) only with his detection and arrest.  The CPS also provided detailed reasons as to why they would not prosecute McKinnon in the UK - and this was not a supririse, as both the unauthorised access and the alleged damage occured entirely in the US.

Moreover, the allegations against McKinnon also went beyond unauthorised access to substantial file deletion and copying.  The US alleged that there was significant operational damage and that they could evidence the damage.

It was also usually overlooked that the unauthorised access (ie the offence) had been actually admitted by McKinnon's legal team (so it was likely to be no issue to be tried).  His legal team even indicated that he may also admit the damage as well as the unauthorised access.

Accordingly, the US could thereby show a prima facie case.  Therefore the disparities in respect of the UK/US extradition arrangements were not actually relevant in this case -  the notorious "one-sided" extradition treaty was a red herring here, even if it was relevant in other cases.

And given the human dimension in all this, and perhaps most importantly of all, the US even provided detailed assurances as to how McKinnon's condition of Asperger's Syndrome would have been accommodated should he be extradited. 

It should also be noted that McKinnon  rejected a highly advantageous plea bargain in 2003 (and so would have been free of all this by around 2006, rather than still waiting as late as 2012). 

Finally, the US also stated that there was no principled opposition to McKinnon applying to serve his sentence in the UK.

 

The McKinnon legal case was never how the mainstram media presented the case; and so it was always difficult for anyone following to comprehend why the extradition went on for so long.

But, unless the DPP decides to now prosecute McKinnon in England, none of the above legal analysis matters any more. 

It would appear the "Free Gary" campaign has succeeded in keeping the case going in England until they could get the official decision they sought. This is an incredible achievement.  The fact that the legal realities of the case were often ignored along the way by the mainstream media is now perhaps only of academic importance.

 

 

(Supporting analysis and links to all the above is at my blog at Jack of Kent.)

Gary McKinnon. Photograph: Getty Images

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.)

Photo: Getty
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I’m in the kitchen with my children, finally learning how to sharpen a knife

For some reason, they have often given me sharp things as presents.

The children have been with me quite a bit lately: they are all going to be, by the time you read this, on their travels, and the Hovel is a useful staging-post for the start of their journeys. Staying here means an extra hour in bed when you have to take a coach from Victoria, or a plane from Stansted or, worse, Luton.

Their company never fails to delight, which is not how I imagined things would turn out. I was a surly clock-watcher at my own parents’ home, counting the days until I could cast off the oppressive yoke of having my meals cooked for me and my laundry done. That was how it was back then. Nowadays, parents try to close the gap between themselves and their children or, even if they don’t try, the gap seems to be closing anyway.

I suppose not being in situ for ten years, on the ground doing the daily heavy lifting, helps. I am not the monstrous, Freudian oppressor-figure: I am the messy layabout with a certain weird kind of authority but not one who assumes the moral high ground. But here they are, or were, and as they get older they get increasingly interesting, more pleasing to be with. And the interesting thing is that they now have skills that I can learn. The traffic of instruction is not one-way.

My daughter worked, for a while, in the kitchen of a restaurant in Berlin. She already knew how to cook, and how to get along with people, but there she also learned how to sharpen knives. I thought I could, but I can’t, not at all.

When you see a father – invariably a father – zinging a honing steel along the blade of a knife prior to carving the Sunday roast, he is not doing anything useful apart from establishing a sense of theatre, which is of debatable utility anyway. He might think he’s a cross between Zorro and Anthony Bourdain, the rather cool New York chef – there’s always a certain flourish in the wrist action – but the trained chef will raise an eyebrow.

For some reason my children have often given me sharp things as presents. For my first Christmas in the Hovel they gave me a Swiss Army Knife, which I still use, especially the corkscrew; one birthday they gave me a pizza-cutter in the shape of the original Starship Enterprise – which I still use. And last birthday, the boys clubbed together to get me a proper kitchen knife.

I had hitherto resisted the notion of getting one, despite the fact that I like cooking and also know how important a good knife is. Here is Bourdain himself, writing in his Les Halles Cookbook (the only one I ever use these days): “Your knife, more than any other piece of equipment in the kitchen, is an extension of the self, an expression of your skills, ability, experience, dreams and desires.”

I suppose this was why I put up with rubbish knives for so long: my dreams and desires were second-rate. I was cooking on an electric hob, mostly for myself; besides, I wasn’t going to be here forever. What the hell was I going to do with a decent knife? Also, I have a healthy respect for sharpness, and whenever I cut meat up with a good blade, I imagine that blade cutting into my own weak flesh, and see vividly, the wound it makes.

But a good knife needs to be looked after, and my daughter, who was given a Japanese chef’s knife as a parting gift from her fellow kitchen workers, learned how to use a water stone, and last weekend taught me.

It is fascinating, and soothing, sharpening a knife. You have to gauge the correct angle at which to place the blade against the stone. You have to feel, with the pads of your fingers, the sharpness of the knife itself, and the burr that results on one side of it after a few dozen passes over the stone. One is aware that sharpening is about shaving steel, almost by molecules at a time, a process that has no theoretical end, except when, one day, the knife itself is sharpened to invisibility.

I am reminded of the fabled measure of eternity: the bird who sharpens his beak against the rock of a mile-high mountain once every hundred years. When the mountain is worn down, a mere day of eternity will have passed.

Meanwhile, the daughter passes the knife across the stone, dips her fingers in a bowl of water, sprinkles it over the stone, and repeats the passing. The father sits there, absorbed in her skill, wondering at this inversion of the traditional learning process. “Here,” she says, handing over knife and stone. “You have a go.” 

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 20 July 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The new world disorder