The uses of legislation

In the first volume of his musings, “Miscellany-at-Law: A Diversion for Lawyers and Others”, Sir Robert Megarry recounts the tale of a piece of legislation drafted during the era when divorce was possible only through an Act of Parliament. It happened that an unhappily married Town Clerk was promoting a local waterworks Bill. According to the story, in clause 64 of the Bill, mingled with technical provisions about filter beds and stopcocks, appeared the phrase “…and the Town Clerk’s marriage is hereby dissolved…” The Bill, in this precise form, it is said, later received the Royal Assent and passed into law. In the finest tradition of fairy-tale endings, it is claimed that the Town clerk lived happily ever after.

We are reminded of this chestnut by the current political turmoil to our south in Trinidad & Tobago where the governing administration is under substantial pressure owing to its recent passage of the Administration of Justice [Indictable Proceedings] Act and its suspiciously hasty proclamation of the by now notorious section 34 of the Act. Exactly why this provision, commendable in its general intendment, has caused such a furore is a tale in itself.

This controversial section purports to eliminate some of those lengthy preliminary proceedings that had become trapped for ten years or more in the lower courts since their institution with the objective of having the indictable offences tried and determined as soon as reasonably practicable. Given the recent trenchant observations from the Caribbean Court of Justice as to the imperative for the speedy trials of accused persons so as to ensure compliance with their constitutional rights to protection of the law, the section would appear, at first blush, to be eminently desirable. Indeed, it bears remarking that there was no dissent from the Opposition during parliamentary debate either in the Lower or Upper House to any provision of the statute.

The section would effect a more sinister outcome, however. It appears that its provisions had caught within their purview the cases of the two chief accused in the Piarco corruption scandal who also happen to be two of the more significant contributors to the campaign coffers of the governing coalition. These gentlemen then promptly petitioned the courts to have the outstanding criminal corruption charges against them dismissed in accordance with the new legislation; days before popular pressure forced the government, in an embarrassing U-turn, to reconvene Parliament in the midst of its summer recess and to repeal the section. A serious issue of the constitutionality of such a procedure and its effects on the rights of the accused is now before the Trinidad courts.

Still, a successful plea for dismissal of their charges would be an international comedown for Trinidad & Tobago. In a considered judgment some time ago, a local court had refused the extradition of these two to the United States to face similar charges on the ground that T&T was the most convenient forum for the trial of their offences.

In the aftermath of the todoment, the Opposition has taken to the streets in mass protest, calling for the resignation of senior Cabinet officials; the coalition is at serious risk of further fracture and, in their own colloquial expression, the government is “ketching its royal…”

We wait expectantly to see whether this will simply turn out to be merely another regional nine-day wonder or whether it will be popularly construed as a flagrant breach of political trust by those who hold the reins of policy.

It was a former leader of the main party in the governing coalition who once asserted that politics has its own morality. We already know that one virtue that does not exist among Commonwealth Caribbean politicians is that of resignation. What does this political morality dictate therefore in the present circumstances?