Opponents of gay marriage won't face discrimination, says Equality Commission

The advice, given to MPs today, also refutes suggestions that unwilling clergy might be forced by human rights law to marry same-sex couples.

The Equality and Human Rights Commission has dismissed claims that legalising same-sex marriage will lead to discrimination against people who continue to believe that marriage can only be between a man and a woman.  The advice, given to MPs today, also refutes suggestions that unwilling clergy might be forced by human rights law to marry same-sex couples. Any such attempt, it concludes, would be "extremely likely to fail."

Parliament is beginning its detailed consideration of the bill today.

Ever since the government announced its intention to change the law, opponents have argued that  people who take a more traditional view of marriage will face discrimination in the workplace, even potentially losing their jobs for expressing their beliefs.  

A letter organised last month on behalf of Catholic priests and bishops (more than a thousand signed it) compared the prospect to the situation their church faced after the Reformation, when Catholics were legally barred from holding many official positions. The move, the priests predicted, "will have many legal consequences, severely restricting the ability of Catholics to teach the truth about marriage in their schools, charitable institutions or places of worship. It is meaningless to argue that Catholics and others may still teach their beliefs about marriage in schools and other arenas if they are also expected to uphold the opposite view at the same time."

Similar fears have been expressed by other campaigners.  The Conservative MP Edward Leigh introduced a Ten Minute Rule bill at the end of January calling for explicit protection to be given to opponents of same-sex weddings in churches - by making the exclusively heterosexual view of marriage a "protected characteristic" under the 2010 Equality Act.  Without such protection, he warned, "Army and NHS chaplains who preach in favour of traditional marriage in their own churches on Sunday could find themselves in trouble," while "tens of thousands" of teachers could face disciplinary action.

Today's advice from the EHRC, written by a leading QC, suggests that these fears are misplaced. When it comes to religious ceremonies, it notes that "freedom to manifest religion or belief" is enshrined in the Human Rights Act, as well as in Article 9 of the European Convention.  The principle is not absolute, since a government can interfere with it in the wider public good, but in this case the government has said very clearly that it wishes to uphold the right of religious objection.  Churches and other religious bodies will be able to opt-in to performing same-sex marriages, but that will be entirely their choice.

The EHRC also sees "no reason why employees of all kinds will not remain free to express their views about same-sex marriage."  They, too, would enjoy the full protection of Article 9.  Furthermore, the Equality Act itself protects employees from direct and indirect discrimination, and also unfair dismissal, because of their religion or belief.  Employees should not be sanctioned for disagreeing with the new law, since it "would be unlawful for an employer to discipline or sack an employee for this. This is the case for all employees, whether in the public or private sector, including teachers and chaplains."  Nor would be anyone be required to promote same-sex marriage as part of their job.

The guidance concludes that there "is sufficient protection for individuals who hold the religious or philosophical belief that marriage should only be between a man and a woman."  The only exception the EHRC can see is that registrars might be required to officiate at same-sex weddings as part of their public duty: but as the recent case of Lillian Ladele showed, this is already true of civil partnership ceremonies.

Campaigners against the Bill will probably dismiss this advice as speculative.  Seemingly contradictory advice from the human rights lawyer Aidan O'Neill was publicised last month in the Telegraph. Nevertheless, such a clear statement from the EHRC is likely to carry weight, since it has a statutory duty to scrutinise legislation and to issue formal advice to employers. The advice on same-sex marriage comes on the day that the Commission also circulates new guidance on the wider question of the expression of religion and belief in the workplace, which it hopes will avoid conflict and costly court cases.  

It's also worth noting that Aidan Smith, who was demoted by Trafford Housing Trust after expressing an opinion about same-sex marriage on Facebook, won his case at the High Court last year

If there was a danger of over-zealous employers interpreting the new law as requiring staff to suppress their opposition to same-sex marriage, today's strong advice from the EHRC makes such a scenario much less likely.

An anti-gay marriage protest in France, on January 13. Photo: Getty
Belief, disbelief and beyond belief
Getty
Show Hide image

France is changing: an army stalks the streets and Boris Johnson wanders the Tuileries

Will Self on the militarisation of France, and Boris Johnson at the Foreign Office.

At the corner of the rue D’Hauteville and the rue de Paradis in the tenth arrondissement of Paris is a retro-video-games-themed bar, Le Fantôme, which is frequented by some not-so-jeunes gens – the kind of thirtysomethings nostalgic for an era when you had to go to an actual place if you wanted to enter virtual space. They sit placidly behind the plate-glass windows zapping Pac-Men and Space Invaders, while outside another – and rather more lethal – sort of phantom stalks the sunlit streets.

I often go to Paris for work, and so have been able to register the incremental militarisation of its streets since President Hollande first declared a state of emergency after last November’s terrorist attacks. In general the French seem more comfortable about this prêt-à-porter khaki than we’d probably be; the army-nation concept is, after all, encrypted deep in their collective psyche. The army was constituted as a revolutionary instrument. France was the first modern nation to introduce universal male conscription – and it continued in one form or another right up until the mid-1990s.

Even so, it was surprising to witness the sang-froid with which Parisians regarded the camouflaged phantoms wandering among them: a patrol numbering eight ­infantrymen and women moved up the roadway, scoping out doorways, nosing into passages – but when one peered into Le Fantôme, his assault rifle levelled, none of the boozing gamers paid the least attention. I witnessed this scene the Saturday after Mohamed Lahouaiej-Bouhlel ran amok on the Promenade des Anglais in Nice – it was a little preview of the new state of emergency.

On Monday 18 July the French premier, Manuel Valls, was booed at a memorial service for the victims of the Nice attacks – while Marine Le Pen has been making all the populist running, whipping up anxieties about the enemy within. For many French, the events of the past week – including the failed Turkish coup – are steps along the way limned by Michel Houellebecq in his bestselling novel Submission; a via dolorosa that ends with La Marianne wearing the hijab and France itself annexed by a new caliphate.

Into this febrile drama comes a new player: Boris Johnson, the British Foreign Secretary. What can we expect from this freshly minted statesman when it comes to our relations with our closest neighbour? There is no doubt that Johnson is a Francophile – I’ve run into him and his family at the Tuileries, and he made much of his own francophone status during the referendum campaign. In Paris last winter to launch the French edition of his Churchill biography, Johnson wowed a publication dinner by speaking French for the entire evening. He was sufficiently fluent to bumble, waffle and generally avoid saying anything serious at all.

Last Sunday I attended the Lambeth Country Show, an oxymoronic event for which the diverse inhabitants of my home borough gather in Brockwell Park, south London, for jerked and halal chicken, funfair rides, Quidditch-watching, and “country-style” activities, such as looking at farm animals and buying their products. Wandering among ancient Rastafarians with huge shocks of dreadlocks, British Muslims wearing immaculate white kurtas blazoned with “ASK ME ABOUT ISLAM” and crusty old Brixton punks, I found it quite impossible to rid my mind of the Nice carnage – or stop wondering how they would react if armed soldiers were patrolling, instead of tit-helmeted, emphatically unarmed police.

I stepped into the Royal Horticultural Society marquee, and there they were: the entire cast of our end-of-the-pier-show politics, in vegetable-sculpture form and arrayed for judging. There was Jeremy Corbyn (or “Cornbin”) made out of corncobs – and Boris Johnson in the form of a beetroot, being stabbed in the back by a beetroot Michael Gove. And over there was Johnson again, this time rendered in cabbage. The veggie politicians were the big draw, Brixtonians standing six-deep around them, iPhones aloft.

The animal (as opposed to the vegetable) Johnson has begun his diplomatic rounds this week, his first démarches as tasteless and anodyne as cucumber. No British abandonment of friends after Brexit . . . Coordinated response to terror threat . . . Call for Erdogan to be restrained in response to failed coup . . . Blah-blah, whiff-whaff-waffle . . . Even someone as gaffe-prone as he can manage these simple lines, but I very much doubt he will be able to produce rhetorical flourishes as powerful as his hero’s. In The Churchill Factor: How One Man Made History, Johnson writes of Winnie overcoming “his stammer and his depression and his ­appalling father to become the greatest living Englishman”. Well, I’ve no idea if Bojo suffers from depression now but he soon will if he cleaves to this role model. His Churchill-worship (like so many others’) hinges on his belief that, without Churchill as war leader, Britain would have been ground beneath the Nazi jackboot. It may well be that, with his contribution to the Brexit campaign, Johnson now feels he, too, has wrested our national destiny from the slavering jaws of contingency.

Of course the differences between the two politicians are far more significant: Johnson’s genius – such as it is – lies in his intuitive understanding that politics, in our intensely mediatised and entirely commoditised era, is best conceived of as a series of spectacles or stunts: nowadays you can fool most of the people, most of the time. This is not a view you can imagine associating with Churchill, who, when his Gallipoli stratagem went disastrously wrong, exiled himself, rifle in hand, to the trenches. No, the French people Johnson both resembles and has an affinity for are the ones caught up in the virtual reality of Le Fantôme – rather than those patrolling the real and increasingly mean streets without. 

Will Self is an author and journalist. His books include Umbrella, Shark, The Book of Dave and The Butt. He writes the Madness of Crowds and Real Meals columns for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 21 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The English Revolt