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webofevilLord Mackay of Clashfern stood up. A former Tory Lord Chancellor, occasionally touted as “one of the finest legal minds of his generation” (albeit possibly by people who don’t have to listen to him), he was concerned by the government’s apparent disdain for the independence of the judiciary.
He tried to express, as clearly and correctly as he knew how, the damage that would be done to that independence if the government were able to get their bill made law. Long, graceful sentences that kept their thread; carefully chosen phrases woven into linguistic chain mail—no danger of his words being ripped apart by future slings and arrows. Certainly his speech would appear dull to the layman, the casual reader—but whoever read parliamentary proceedings casually? What was important was that his words were directed at the minister on the front bench opposite. She would be forced to respond to his coruscating and—in its own dry, legal way—passionate oratory. After all, the whole issue cut to the heart of her party’s quandary: independent judges, but independent in the way we want.
He realised that time was short, so he finished abruptly, mid-sentence, covered with a polite flourish, and sat down.
The minister, Baroness Ashton of Upholland, stood up and leant on the dispatch box.
“Well, I’m sorry if I mis-spoke, my Lords,” she began, “but I’m not a lawyer, so I don’t always use the correct legal jargon. Lord Mackay will just have to forgive me for that.” And she went on to talk about something else.
Lord Mackay sat, dumbfounded. Not only had she not answered his finely-honed question, she hadn’t actually understood a syllable of it. She thought he had been criticising her choice of vocabulary. The troublesome section of the legislation would plough on, unchallenged, and his—admittedly awkward—question would probably continue to echo round the chamber, unanswered, long after his own death. He might as well have stood up and sung “Hello Dolly” for three minutes. At least that would have got him a bit of exposure as the cute item at the end of the news.
Baroness Ashton continued footlingly on, saying all the words that were in front of her, but not necessarily in the right order.
I watched this fruitless exchange tonight, and nearly started throwing blunt objects.
He tried to express, as clearly and correctly as he knew how, the damage that would be done to that independence if the government were able to get their bill made law. Long, graceful sentences that kept their thread; carefully chosen phrases woven into linguistic chain mail—no danger of his words being ripped apart by future slings and arrows. Certainly his speech would appear dull to the layman, the casual reader—but whoever read parliamentary proceedings casually? What was important was that his words were directed at the minister on the front bench opposite. She would be forced to respond to his coruscating and—in its own dry, legal way—passionate oratory. After all, the whole issue cut to the heart of her party’s quandary: independent judges, but independent in the way we want.
He realised that time was short, so he finished abruptly, mid-sentence, covered with a polite flourish, and sat down.
The minister, Baroness Ashton of Upholland, stood up and leant on the dispatch box.
“Well, I’m sorry if I mis-spoke, my Lords,” she began, “but I’m not a lawyer, so I don’t always use the correct legal jargon. Lord Mackay will just have to forgive me for that.” And she went on to talk about something else.
Lord Mackay sat, dumbfounded. Not only had she not answered his finely-honed question, she hadn’t actually understood a syllable of it. She thought he had been criticising her choice of vocabulary. The troublesome section of the legislation would plough on, unchallenged, and his—admittedly awkward—question would probably continue to echo round the chamber, unanswered, long after his own death. He might as well have stood up and sung “Hello Dolly” for three minutes. At least that would have got him a bit of exposure as the cute item at the end of the news.
Baroness Ashton continued footlingly on, saying all the words that were in front of her, but not necessarily in the right order.
I watched this fruitless exchange tonight, and nearly started throwing blunt objects.
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no subject
Date: 2005-03-01 11:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-01 01:08 pm (UTC)# Lord "nice chap and all that but, seriously, for Christ's sake" Falconer's desperate interpretation of the words "does not apply to the Royal Family" as "applies to the Royal Family"
# The Law Lords daring to apply human rights legislation that we're meant to be fully signed up to
# The growing suspicion that the Attorney General's "second opinion" on going to war with Iraq* consisted simply of the words "Oh go on then, why not" on the back of a receipt
* "We're not going to war with you, we're going to war at you."
Of course, Clarke's own definitions might be sloppy here. Perhaps when he talks about being "patronised by lawyers" he just means "qualified professionals doing their job by telling me when I'm taking the piss".
And for Clarke to accuse anyone else of being patronising is startling. He shares with Blair—and, to a degree, Kilroy—the firm conviction that the best way to be seen as an honest politician and a man of the people is to respond to any criticism—indeed, almost any question—with a sigh, a shake of the head, perhaps a smile, and the carefully studied impression that no-one else could conceivably understand the intricate complexities of what the stripling before them is begging them to expound on. It's an unattractive trait in anyone, but Clarke carries it off least well, coming across like a shifty plumber about to charge you fifty times what the job is worth.
Earlier this year he was telling interviewers (patronisingly) that the public would just have to trust him on the issue of who got interned indefinitely. He still appears not to understand that some people feel this isn't enough. His approval on its own is not our guarantee of quality. Who does he think he is, Bernard Matthews?
no subject
Date: 2005-03-01 01:20 pm (UTC)