A view of a sign at Greenwich Magistrates Court is pictured in south-east London, on July 10, 2008. Photo: Getty Images
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Magistrates should be stripped of their powers to restrict court reporting

Coverage of our courts is being censored - because magistrates are too quick to impose unnecessary reporting restrictions. In the interests of open justice, this has to stop.

 

Twelve years ago prison governors asked for magistrates courts to be stripped of their powers of imprisonment.

The prison population had soared to 70,000 and there was no more room - it was a crisis. (The number of people in jail today is 85,902, but relax! We’ve built more prisons to house the highest per capita prison population in Europe.)

Today I would like to propose another curb on magistrates’ powers. They need to be stripped of the ability to interfere with the reporting of the courts, because, to put it bluntly, many of them have not got the first idea of what they are doing.

Courts have various ways in which they can limit the reports that come out of their court. These are separate to the anonymity for victims of sexual offences and children in youth court, which is automatically applied by law and has nothing to do with a court order.

However, all courts - Magistrates, Crown and upwards - are given statutory powers to limit reports in various circumstances.

If a child is involved in an adult case, as a witness for example, they can place a so-called Section 39 order on that child making them anonymous.

If the court feels a detail from the proceedings might prejudice a trial it can make an order postponing reporting of it - a Section 4 order under the Contempt of Court Act 1981. Or if there are fears for national security, a complete ban can be issued under Section 11 of the 1981 Act.

The problem is that when it comes to interpreting the law concerning open reporting of the courts, magistrates and (sad to say) sometimes judges seem to be acting on a whim.

Recently I have seen the following:

  • A court unlawfully place a Section 39 anonymity order on the children of a woman accused of murder, even though they were not involved in the proceedings in any way and therefore could not in law be the subject of such an order
  • A court consider refusing to allow a sexual offence victim to waive her anonymity, even though in law she could do so and the court had no power to stop her - and to do so would be a violation of her Article 10 right to freedom of speech
  • A magistrate refuse to give her name to reporters covering a case, in contradiction of a ruling made in R v Felixstowe Magistates saying that they must give their names to the media so they can properly and openly report the proceedings
  • A section 39 order placed to anonymise a child who was dead, and who would therefore, obviously, play no part in the proceedings whatsoever

It may be that the magistrates concerned have not been given training in this aspect of the law - although their powers, and the restrictions on them, are very clearly set out in the booklet Reporting Restrictions in the Magistrates Court by the Judicial Studies Board, copies of which should be available in every court, and if not are easily obtained online.

It is also possible that they have received guidance, but are persuaded too easily by lawyers representing a defendant, to make an order which curtails reporting unnecessarily.

Either way these orders can severely hamper the open reporting of the courts and as so often has been stated in the past, justice unreported is no justice at all.

So these powers should be removed from lay magistrates and placed instead in the hands of a district judge or higher, so that proper legal argument can take place.

This would still not be perfect – district judges and those in crown court are capable of making daft orders on occasion, but are generally more open to persuasion otherwise if they can be shown case law or statute contradicting them.

The courts are woefully under-reported these days and they should be making every effort to be more open and accommodating to those who would inform the public of what goes on there. Making unlawful orders that close down coverage does nothing to help.

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Byron burgers and bacon sandwiches: can any politician get away with eating on camera?

Memo to aspirant world leaders: eating in public is a political minefield.

Miliband’s sandwich. Cameron’s hot dog. Osborne’s burger. The other Miliband’s banana. As well as excellent names for up-and-coming indie bands, these are just a few examples of now infamous food faux pas committed by British politicians.

During his entire mayoral campaign, Sadiq Khan refused to eat anything in public. When journalist Simon Hattenstone met him in his local curry house for the Guardian, the now-mayor didn’t eat a single bite despite “dish after dish” arriving at the table. Who can blame him? Though Ed Miliband had been pictured blunderingly eating a bacon sandwich an entire year earlier, the national furore around the incident had not yet died down. “He can make me look Clooneyesque or make me look like Ed eating a bacon sandwich,” Khan said of the photographer at the time.

Miliband’s bacon sandwich is now so infamous that I need offer no explanation for the event other than those words. There is an entire Wikipedia page dedicated to the photograph of Ed, lips curled and eyes rolling, as he tucks into that fateful sarnie. Yet politicians frequently bite off more than they can chew – why did Ed’s mishap inspire multiple headlines and an entire front page of The Sun?

Via Getty

“The momentum got behind the bacon sandwich story because he was awkward, it showed him in a light which was true - he was an awkward candidate in that election,” says Paul Baines, a professor of political marketing at Cranfield University. “He didn’t come across right.”

The photograph of Miliband fit neatly within a pre-existing image of the politician – that he was bumbling, incompetent, and unable to take control. Similarly, when David Cameron was pictured eating a hot dog with a knife and fork months later, the story reinforced popular notions of him as a posh, out-of-touch, champagne-swilling old Etonian. Though Oxford-educated, two-kitchen Miliband is nearly as privileged as Cameron, and Brexit-inducing Dave equally as incompetent as Ed, the pictures would not gain the same popularity in reverse. There are many, many less-than-flattering pictures of Cameron eating, but they didn’t fit into a workable narrative.

Via Getty

No one, for example, focused on the price of Ed’s sandwich. Purchased at New Covenant Garden Market, it was undoubtedly more expensive than Greggs’ £1.75 bacon roll – but no one cared. When George Osborne was pictured eating an £8 Byron burger whilst cutting £11.5 million from the British budget, however, the picture spoke to many. The then-chancellor was forced to explain that “McDonalds doesn't deliver”, although, as it turned out, Byron didn’t either.

“The idea was to try and display him in a good light – here's a guy eating a burger just like everyone else. The only problem was it was a posh burger and of course he didn't look like everyone else because he was spending ten quid on a burger,” explains Baines.

But Dave, Ed, and George are just the latest in a long, long line of politicians who have been mocked for their eating habits. Across the ocean, Donald Trump has been lambasted for liking his steak well done, while in 1976, Gerald Ford was mocked after biting into the inedible corn husk of a tamale. Why then, do politicians not copy Khan, and avoid being pictured around food altogether?

Via Getty

“Food connects everybody, food is essentially a connection to culture and the 'every person',” explains Baines. “[Nigel] Farage's appearance in the pub has definitely had a positive impact on how he's perceived by a big chunk of the working class electorate which is an important, sizeable group.” Though Cameron, too, has been pictured with pints, his undeniably weird grasp on the glass make the pictures seem inauthentic, compared to Farage whose pints are clearly at home in his hands. In America, Joe Biden managed to capture the same authenticity with an ice-cream cone.

“I think when it comes across badly is when it comes across as inauthentic,” says Baines. “If I were advising, I certainly wouldn't advise Theresa May to be seen in the pub having a pint, that would not shine with her particular character or style. But could Tim Farron come across better in that way? Possibly but it does have to be authentic.”

Food, then, can instantly make a politician seem in or out of touch. This is especially true when food connects to national identity. Tony Blair, for example, publicly claimed his favourite dish was fish and chips despite earlier saying it was fettuccine with olive oil, sundried tomatoes and capers. In the 1980s, Lord Mandelson allegedly mistook mushy peas for guacamole, insulting us all. In the States, you’d be hard pressed to find a politician who hasn’t been pictured with a hot dog, and there are entire articles dedicated to US politicians who eat pizza with a knife and fork. Again, the food fits a narrative – politicians out of touch with the common person.  

Then again, sometimes, just sometimes, no narrative is needed. We’d advise any candidate who seriously wants a shot in the 2017 General Election to not, under any circumstances, be pictured casually feeding a Solero to an unidentified young woman. 

Amelia Tait is a technology and digital culture writer at the New Statesman.

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