The Ministry of Justice in London. Photograph: Getty Images
Show Hide image

How the Ministry of Justice’s proposal for the tendering of criminal legal aid is misconceived and illiberal

This is a flawed proposal which will have highly damaging effects.

The government has a contradictory approach to the legal profession.

On one hand, there appear no limits to its extravagance when the legal work is for particular issues hotly favoured by ministers. For example, the Home Secretary used taxpayers money to fund three QCs on successive hopeless appeals in the Qatada case. And the Chancellor of the Exchequer has, without any apparent public procurement exercise, hired City law firm Slaughter and May to provide advice on a business finance project  Remarkably, it appears the Treasury is even paying Slaughter and May for tax law advice on this particular project, even though there are over 120 tax lawyers already employed by HMRC.

In respect of the legal rights of the citizen, however, the government’s approach is very different. Not only is the government seeking to reduce the amount it spends on ensuring defendants in criminal matters have access to legal advice and representation, it is not even thinking its proposals through.

Take, for example, the Ministry of Justice’s current “consultation” on a scheme of “competitive tendering” for criminal legal aid.  To a large extent, the consultation is a sham, as ministers have already blithely decided that they are in favour of such a scheme in principle and, regardless of the consultation, that “competitive tendering” will be introduced within months. However, the government says that it wishes to consult on the proposed “model” for the scheme, which is just as well as the proposed model is about as misconceived as it could be.

The starting point is that government spends just over £1 billion every year on criminal legal aid. This provides for “litigation services” ranging from advising at the police station to preparing for trial. The budget also covers representation of the defendants in the (lower) Magistrates’ Courts and the Crown Court (for more serious offences). As it stands, there are some 1,400 “providers” of litigation services: mainly High Street solicitors.

There is pressure to cut the spend on criminal legal aid. The government’s proposal for “competitive tendering” for criminal legal aid is part of a group of proposals which are supposed to save £220 million a year over the next five years. This figure is, of course, plucked out of the air. No calculations have been published to justify the figure, even though there is a public interest in understanding how the savings will come about. There certainly has been no published explanation as to how the envisaged “competitive tendering” will actually lead to any concrete savings. The supposed benefit is simply asserted.

There is similar lack of thought in the proposal itself. A sensible procurement exercise sources the market for what is available and seeks suppliers accordingly. Any other approach can mean wishful thinking and unrealistic expectations. But the Ministry of Justice has said it cannot deal with 1,400 mainly small and medium sized service providers. This is deemed “inefficient”. So the government wants to create an entirely different supplier base for these services, one which does not even exist.  This is not an example of a Tory-led government wanting to “buck the market”; it is a government which wants to bulldoze an entire market square, in the hope that something more agreeable will suddenly appear in its place.

The 1,400 current providers of litigation services for defendants in criminal cases will be cut by one thousand. This means that a thousand solicitors’ firms on High Streets throughout England and Wales will suddenly cease being able to act for defendants in criminal cases. Some of these firms may be able to join with other firms so as to carry on; but there is little doubt that most of them will close. And this is quite deliberate: the consultation paper reveals a government quite brazenly open in its intended attack on a whole sector of small and medium sized enterprises (SMEs).

One would perhaps not expect a Tory-led government, or a minister like Chris Grayling, to be so crushing of SMEs on this scale. But it is also an assault on localism and choice. High Street solicitors have unmatched experience in dealing with local criminal matters: they know the courts, the local probation services, the local barristers, and the local police. All this will be deliberately lost. 

The government is also proposing to remove the right of defendants to choose a defence solicitor from those providing legal aid. This is, of course, contrary to the reforms promoted by other social welfare departments, such as Health and Education, where the “client” is supposed to have “more choice”. The Ministry of Justice instead believes that the provision of legal services will somehow be more competitive by removing the ability of end users to choose their service provider.

Some may say that the destruction of SMEs, the abandonment of localism, and the removal of choice would all be worth it, if there could be a better system of criminal legal aid; these would be prices worth paying for better criminal justice. Unfortunately, however, the proposals do not even make sense on their terms. Here, there are four important points of concern about the proposal for “competitive tendering” for criminal legal aid.

First, the proposed scheme is flatly contrary to good procurement practice. What usually should happen is that the government “sources” the market, so to see what the market can provide. It then goes to the market with an offer which suppliers can meet. Here, the Ministry of Justice fully knows that there are few potential providers currently in place to realistically bid for the envisaged bulk contracts. Given this exercise is being done at speed, and to be completed within months, the government must also be aware that it is unlikely that suppliers will be able to combine in time so as to make realistic bids. In essence, therefore, the government does not actually know whether there will be sufficient suppliers in place for there to be any genuine competition for the contracts. This is not “competitive tendering”; this is uncompetitive tendering.

Second, the proposed scheme will have no criteria as to quality of services. The basis of the procurement exercise will not even be “best value” in any general sense. The procurements will be on price alone. Again, this goes against good procurement practice. Price-only procurements are appropriate for bulk buying of goods such as envelopes, but they are not appropriate for the purchase of complex services where the provider will be expected to undertake a range of different tasks over time. The government is wrongly treating the purchase of legal services as if it were the purchase of legal stationery.

Third, there is nothing in place if the scheme does not actually work. Grayling, an ambitious minister, wants to introduce this entire scheme at a stroke; a “big bang” approach. There will be no pilots and testing. It will either have to work or it will not. Wiser heads such as the current Tory Attorney-General Dominc Grieve are ignored. Grieve warned in opposition of a milder version of the current proposal:

‘We really should be concerned about the lasting damage that could be done if we’ve got this wrong. It could permanently damage the provision of criminal legal aid.’

It seems Grayling knows better. He wants to at speed destroy the current supplier base so to replace it with one which does not yet exist, regardless of any risk of permanently damaging the provision and quality of legal aid. 

But the fourth point of concern is perhaps the most serious of all. Any procurement exercise of this nature should have clear and detailed provisions for contract management. It is not enough to “let” the contracts and appoint suppliers. That is only step two of such an exercise, and certainly not the final step. Complex service contracts have to be actively managed; suppliers have to be monitored; and outcomes have to be assessed. Unless there is proper contract management of a public services contract, they are mere cash-cows by which taxpayers’ money is re-allocated to the capital funders of the successful providers.

There is nothing – nothing whatsoever – in the consultation paper on how these lucrative three to five year contracts will be managed once awarded. Given the enormity of the change being inflicted, this is at best irresponsible. Large providers which have bid only on price will have no on-going incentive to provide any services of a certain standard. And by the time the contracts will up for renewal, they will be cosy incumbents with no surviving competitors.

There are real questions to be asked about how best to spend a £1 billion annual budget. But the proposed scheme of competitive tendering is irrelevant. There is no reason to believe it will reduce costs and every reason to believe it will reduce the quality of services. In its rejection of choice and localism, and its attack on SMEs, one cannot even give it credit as a weapon of Tory ideology. It is merely an all-round stupid proposal which will have highly damaging effects.

Our criminal justice system really deserves better than this.

 

David Allen Green is legal correspondent of the New Statesman and a solicitor. He was from 2003 to 2005 a legal adviser on procurement and commercial matters at HM Treasury’s Office of Government Commerce. 

He is author of the Jack of Kent blog.

 

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.)

Getty
Show Hide image

The dog at the end of the lead may be small, but in fact what I’m walking is a hound of love

There is a new, hairy face in the Hovel.

There is a new, hairy face in the Hovel. I seem to have become a temporary co-owner of an enthusiastic Chorkie. A Chorkie, in case you’re not quite up to speed with your canine crossbreeds, is a mixture of a chihuahua and a Yorkshire Terrier, and while my friend K— busies herself elsewhere I am looking after this hound.

This falls squarely into the category of Things I Never Thought I’d Do. I’m a cat person, taking my cue from their idleness, cruelty and beauty. Dogs, with their loyalty, their enthusiasm and their barking, are all a little too much for me, even after the first drink of the day. But the dog is here, and I am in loco parentis, and it is up to me to make sure that she is looked after and entertained, and that there is no repetition of the unfortunate accident that occurred outside my housemate’s room, and which needed several tissues and a little poo baggie to make good.

As it is, the dog thinks I am the bee’s knees. To give you an idea of how beeskneesian it finds me, it is licking my feet as I write. “All right,” I feel like saying to her, “you don’t have to go that far.”

But it’s quite nice to be worshipped like this, I have decided. She has also fallen in love with the Hovel, and literally writhes with delight at the stinky cushions on the sofa. Named after Trude Fleischmann, the lesbian erotic photographer of the Twenties, Thirties and Forties, she has decided, with admirable open-mindedness, that I am the Leader of the Pack. When I take the lead, K— gets a little vexed.

“She’s walking on a loose lead, with you,” K— says. “She never does that when I’m walking her.” I don’t even know what that means, until I have a think and work it out.

“She’s also walking to heel with you,” K— adds, and once again I have to join a couple of mental dots before the mists part. It would appear that when it comes to dogs, I have a natural competence and authority, qualities I had never, not even in my most deranged flights of self-love, considered myself to possess in any measurable quantity at all.

And golly, does having a dog change the relationship the British urban flâneur has with the rest of society. The British, especially those living south of Watford, and above all those in London, do not recognise other people’s existence unless they want to buy something off them or stop them standing on the left of the sodding escalator, you idiot. This all changes when you have a dog with you. You are now fair game for any dog-fancier to come up to you and ask the most personal questions about the dog’s history and genealogy. They don’t even have to have a dog of their own; but if you do, you are obliged by law to stop and exchange dog facts.

My knowledge of dog facts is scant, extending not much further beyond them having a leg at each corner and chasing squirrels, so I leave the talking to K—, who, being a friendly sort who could probably talk dog all day long if pressed, is quite happy to do that. I look meanwhile in a kind of blank wonder at whichever brand of dog we’ve just encountered, and marvel not only at the incredible diversity of dog that abounds in the world, but at a realisation that had hitherto escaped me: almost half of London seems to have one.

And here’s the really interesting thing. When I have the leash, the city looks at me another way. And, specifically, the young women of the city. Having reached the age when one ceases to be visible to any member of the opposite sex under 30, I find, all of a sudden, that I exist again. Women of improbable beauty look at Trude, who looks far more Yorkie than chihuahua, apart from when she does that thing with the ears, and then look at me, and smile unguardedly and unironically, signalling to me that they have decided I am a Good Thing and would, were their schedules not preventing them, like to chat and get to know me and the dog a bit better.

I wonder at first if I am imagining this. I mention it to K—.

“Oh yes,” she says, “it’s a thing. My friend P-J regularly borrows her when he wants to get laid. He reckons he’s had about 12 shags thanks to her in the last six months. The problems only arise when they come back again and notice the dog isn’t there.”

I do the maths. Twelve in six months! That’s one a fortnight. An idea begins to form in my mind. I suppose you don’t have to be a rocket scientist to work out what it is. But no. I couldn’t. Could I?

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 28 April 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The new fascism