Two recent cases in the European Court of Human Rights demonstrate that there are still large gaps in the protection of freedom of expression in Turkey.

Terrorist speech
In Gözel and Özer v Turkey (43453/04 and 31098/05; 6 July 2010 | judgment (in French); press release (in English)), a Turkish magazine published an article that contained a statement by the central committee of the banned Marxist-Leninist/Turkish Communist Party. Another published an article about the founder of the Marxist movement in Turkey which included a statement by eight people who were in custody for belonging to illegal organisations. The editors of both magazines were convicted of pubishing statements of illegal armed organisations.

The ECHR noted that the editors had been convicted for publishing texts that the domestic courts had characterised as “terrorist organisation statements” without taking into account their context or content, and held that to condemn a text simply on the basis of the identity of the author would entail the automatic exclusion of groups of individuals from the protection afforded by Article 10. It therefore concluded that since the opinions expressed did not constitute hate speech or stir up violence, the Respondent was not entitled to rely on national security to restrict the public’s right to receive information, and that Article 10 had therefore been breached.

In Ireland, the leading Supreme Court decision in this area is the deeply flawed The State (Lynch) v Cooney [1982] IR 337 upholding the infamous section 31(1) of the Broadcasting (Authority) Act, 1960 [(also here), as amended by section 16 of the Broadcasting Authority (Amendment) Act, 1976 (also here), ultimately repealed in 2001] (discussed on this blog here | here | here). On foot of the powers in that section, the Minister had proscribed the access of paramilitaries to the airwaves, and this extended to preventing an election broadcast by a candidate in a party associated with a paramilitary organisation. That association, effectively the mere identity of the candidate, was sufficient to allow the ban to be upheld. O’Higgins CJ held that the use of the media for the purpose of securing or advocating support for organisations which seek by violence to overthrow the State or its institutions is a use which is prohibited by the Constitution. This must now be questionable in the light of Gözel and Özer.

Academic Freedom
In Sapan v Turkey (44102/04; 6 July 2010 | judgment (in French); press release (in English) | h/t Strasbourg Observers), the applicant published a book on the emergence of stardom as a phenomenon in Turkey. It was based upon his doctoral thesis, and it focussed in part on a well-know pop singer. The Turkish courts held that, since the book addressed subjects related to the singer’s personal life rather than his public persona, it had infringed his personality rights. An interim order that the book be seized was eventually lifted after two years and eight months, but the singer’s damages claim was allowed to proceed.

The ECHR emphasised the importance of academic freedom, and it considered that the book was a serious academic analysis of the social phenomenon of stardom which could not be compared with the tabloid press or gossip columns. It therefore held that there were no relevant or sufficient and reasons to justify the seizure of the book, and that Article 10 had therefore been breached.

In an earlier post, I placed the terms of section 14(1) of the Universities Act, 1997 (also here) in the context of US and ECHR decisions on academic freedom, in particular the decision of the ECHR in Sorguc v Turkey 17089/03, [2009] ECHR 979 (23 June 2009). This is a very significant judgment in the development of this important right. In particular, it re-inforces the argument that, since academic freedom is protected under the ECHR as an aspect of Article 10, it should by analogy be protected under the Irish Constitution as an aspect of the right to freedom of expression in Article 40.6.1(i), or of the right to communicate protected by Article 40.3, or even as an unenumerated right located in Article 40.3.

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Prof Adrienne Stone (pictured left), Director of Centre for Comparative Constitutional Studies in the Melbourne Law School has just made a very interesting article available on SSRN. It is The Comparative Constitutional Law of Freedom of Expression, forthcming as a chapter is in Rosalind Dixon and Tom Ginsburg (eds) Research Handbook in Comparative Constitutional Law (Edward Elgar, forthcoming, 2011). Stone argues:

Freedom of expression is among the most widely protected of constitutional rights. Rights of freedom of expression can be found in constitutions drawn from all continents. … Even in those few democracies without comprehensive constitutional protection of rights, freedom of expression finds constitutional protection in other ways. It can plausibly be argued that parliamentary systems … – even in the era before the adoption of charters of rights – recognized a constitutional principle of freedom of expression that, though not enforceable by judicial review, was understood as a fundamental value that informed the reading of statutes and the common law. In addition, there are some legal systems that recognize a judicially enforceable principle of freedom of expression despite the absence of a written constitutional right.

… some scholars … question whether … the comparing free speech principles across constitutional systems is practical or useful for courts interpreting or applying constitutional principles of freedom of expression … The complexity of (and disagreement about) underlying philosophical commitments, the opacity of judicial decision making, and cultural specificity of any particular body of law, … [are] formidable problems for the comparativists, … and the] case for comparativism may be weaker in relation to constitutional principles have developed their own rich set of resources and a distinctive conception of freedom of expression. This latter description fits the First Amendment most neatly … [B]ut, outside of such contexts, the case for comparativism is much stronger. It is not surprising, then, that constitutional comparativism in freedom of expression cases as well as in other areas [is] certainly very widespread. … Successful comparativism within the field of freedom of expression, as elsewhere, requires a rather deep and critical engagement with foreign law that encompasses critical legal and philosophical literature on freedom of expression as well as case law. There is thus an increasing need for a research ‘infrastructure’ of informed, critical and widely comparative studies of freedom of expression that can support this comparative task.

I entirely agree with that last sentence. But that is the last sentence of the paper, suggesting that Stone is skeptical about the present existence of such an infrastructure. She does not need to be. In my view, there is a basic pattern of analysis when a right protected by a document of fundamental status (such as a Constitution or the European Convention of Human Rights) is potentially infringed or restricted by a statutory provision. It consists of four enquiries.

First, consider the restriction. Without a provision that infringes upon a constitutional right, there would be no need for this analysis.

Second, consider what rights the restriction might infringe. If speech rights are involved, then, in Ireland, that will be the right to express freely convictions and opinions Article 40.6.1.i of the Constitution, the (unenumerated) right to communicate in Article 40.3.1, or the right to freedom of expression, including the freedom to hold opinions and to receive and impart information and ideas, in Article 10(1) of the European Convention on Human Rights.

Third, since no right is an absolute, consider whether there are good reasons for the restrictions. The text of Article 40.6.1.i provides at least six: public order, morality, the authority of the State, blasphemy, sedition and indency; Article 40.3.1 protects rights only “in so far as practicable”; and the rights in both sections have been made subject by the judiciary to the exigencies of the common good. Article 10(2) has an extensive list of reasons for restrictions necessary “for the interests of national security, territorial integrity or public safety, for the prevention of disorder or crime, for the protection of health or morals, for the protection of the reputation or rights of others, for preventing the disclosure of information received in confidence, or for maintaining the authority and impartiality of the judiciary”. Any restriction must therefore pursue one of the iterated good reasons or “legitimate aims”, and that aim must be a serious one – there must be a “pressing social need” on the facts to trigger the trigger the relevant good reason legitimate aim. If there is no such good reason, legitimate aim, or pressing social need, then the restriction upon the relevant speech right will be unconstitutional or incompatible with the Convention.

Fourth, it is not enough that the State can simply point to one of the recognised good reasons justifying restrictions; it must also demonstrate that the restriction does not go too far. In other words, the restriction must survive a standard of scrutiny or review. In Ireland, the Supreme Court has established that a restriction upon a constitutional right must be proportionate to the reason underlying it, a standard which is informed by the approach of the European Convention on Human Rights.

As a matter of principle then, a four-part analytical structure can be identified: if there is a restriction upon the right to freedom of expression, the State must have a good reason to justify the restriction which can withstand scrutiny or review. These four Rs of constitutional review can easily provide the foundation or context of the research infrastructure of informed, critical and widely comparative studies of freedom of expression quite-rightly envisaged in Stone’s excellent article.

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When I was growing up, I read a children’s book called The Arabian Nights, an innocent version of the Islamic classic One Thousand and One Nights. Perhaps surprisingly, a group of Egyptian lawyers has recently called for a ban of a newly-released version of the Nights, on the grounds that it is “obscene” and could lead people to “vice and sin”. At the same time, another Egyptian group has called for a ban on the controversial novel Azazeel (Beelzebub) by Youssef Ziedan, which won the 2009 International Prize for Arabic Fiction. And, irony of ironies, just in time for Bloomsday, a manga comic book version of James Joyce’s novel Ulysses had almost been banned from the Apple App Store for obscene images, but Apple then relented, and reversed its earlier decision to remove panels containing nude images, though it still continues to reject less famous apps.

These examples of censorship of literature on the grounds of obscenity are simply the latest instances of a long and dishonourable tradition. In an earlier post, I considered whether Lady Chatterley’s Lover is obscene. In Akdas v Turkey 41056/04 (15 February 2010) (judgment in French; press release in English), the European Court of Human Rights was faced with a similar question earlier this year, when it had to consider whether a Turkish ban on Guillaume Apollinaire’s Les Onze Mille Verges (or, The Eleven Thousand Rods) was consistent with Article 10 of the European Convention on Human Rights. It held that the ban infringed Article 10 (see see ECHR Blog | Guardian | Inforrm | Strasbourg Observers). However, the reasoning by which it reached this eminently sensible conclusion could have profound consequences for states attempting to rely on “the protection of morals” in Article 10(2) to justify restrictions on speech otherwise protected by Article 10(1).

In Handyside v UK 5493/72, [1976] ECHR 5, (1976) 1 EHRR 737 (7 December 1976), the first case on Article 10, the Court took a broad view of what was protected by Article 10(1), but when it came to whether a restiction could be said, in terms of Article 10(2) to be “necessary … for the protection of morals”, the Court held that there is no “uniform European conception of morals” (para 48), with the result that States were afforded quite a generous margain of appreciation to determine in the first instance whether a restriction was indeed necessary for the protection of morals. Subsequent cases have taken a similar approach, but Akdas v Turkey marks a signficant departure from this model.

Paying due obeisance to the Handyside approach, the Court nevertheless tempered it by observing that more than a century had passed since the first publication of the work in France, that it had thereafter been published in numerous countries in various languages, and it that had been inducted into the prestigious Bibliothèque de la Pléiade, now an imprint of Gallimard, a dozen years before being seized in Turkey. As a consequence, the Court held that reliance upon the margin of appreciation would not avail Turkey in this case (in Inforrm’s Blog translation):

[30] … the recognition given to the cultural, historical and religious singularities of member states of the Council of Europe cannot go so far as to prevent public access in a particular language, in this case Turkish, to a work which forms part of the European cultural heritage.

This concept of the European cultural heritage has the potential to act as a signficant check upon over-reliance on the morals exceptoin in Article 10(2). It is certainly a long way from the Handyside assertion that there is no uniform European conception of morals. As Maris Burbergs on Strasbourg Observers points out:

the Court states that the acknowledgment of the cultural, historical and religious particularities of the Council of Europe’s member States could not go so far as to prevent public access in a particular language, in this instance Turkish, to a work belonging to the European literary heritage. Accordingly, the application of the legislation in force at the time of the events had not been intended to satisfy a pressing social need.

Antoine Buyse on ECHR Blog goes further:

Thus, apparently, what has become part of the “canon of art” can no longer be prohibited within Europe. One may wonder what happens in cases where such works truly are offensive to large groups of people and also one may question who decides when a work becomes elevated to this European literary Olympus. Here the Court becomes an interesting player in the ongoing discussion on what is Europe’s common heritage!

Similarly, Inforrm’s Blog says that this conclusion has wide ranging implications:

Many readers of Eleven Thousand Rods will find the contents of the book highly offensive – as indeed did the French public at the time of its publication and for many decades later. When the book was published in England in the 1970s whole chapters were deleted and replaced by short descriptions of the violent acts which were described. The idea that, four decades later, any restriction on the publication anywhere within the Council of Europe States, whatever local sensibilities, is at first sight very surprising. The notion of the “European literary heritage” is one which lacks clear boundaries – certainly in countries which do not have the benefit of the “Pléiade” collection. The judgment does, however, show that contrary to the views of some English critics, the Court of Human Rights continues to take a robust view in “traditional freedom of expression” areas such as obscenity.

One way to test this rather fluid conception of the European literary heritage is to apply it to not just to European books like The Eleven Thousand Rods, Ulysses or Lady Chatterly’s Lover, but to non-European classics such as The One Thousand and One Nights or to important recent publications like Azazeel. If there is no substantive or qualitative difference between them, then the pressure will be on the Court to expand its notion of the European literary heritage, and to narrow the margin of appreciation afforded to member states when the seek to rely on the morals exception. This would be no bad thing.

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Strasbourg is a beautiful city: it possesses a magnificent gothic cathedral; the Grande île is a UNESCO World Heritage site; and it is home to many European institutions, including the the European Court of Human Rights (ECHR, pictured left). It is a city with which Geraldine Kennedy, the Editor of the Irish Times, and Colm Keena, that paper’s Public Affairs Correspondent, will become very familiar, as they bring an exceedingly important case to the ECHR.

In Mahon Tribunal v Keena (No 1) [2009] 2 ILRM 373, [2009] IESC 64 (31 July 2009), the Supreme Court held that the Irish Times would not be compelled to disclose the source of a leaked Tribunal document which it had destroyed rather than produce to the Tribunal. Reversing the High Court ([2007] IEHC 348 (23 October 2007)), Fennelly J for a unanimous Supreme Court held:

68. Looking at the High Court judgment as a whole, I have come to the conclusion that the great weight which it attached to the reprehensible conduct of the appellants in destroying documents led it to adopt an erroneous approach to the balancing exercise.

69. According to the reasoning of the European Court in Goodwin [v United Kingdom 17488/90, (1996) 22 EHRR 123, [1996] ECHR 16 (27 March 1996)], an order compelling the appellants to answer questions for the purpose of identifying their source could only be “justified by an overriding requirement in the public interest.” Once the High Court had devalued the journalistic privilege so severely, the balance was clearly not properly struck. On the other side, I find it very difficult to discern any sufficiently clear benefit to the Tribunal from any answers to the questions they wish to pose to justify the making of the order.

70. I would, therefore, allow the appeal and substitute an order dismissing the Tribunal’s application.

However, the destruction of the document returned to haunt the Irish Times. In Mahon Tribunal v Keena (No 2) [2009] IESC 78 (26 November 2009) (also here), Murray CJ for the Supreme Court held that this deliberate act of destruction of evidence deprived the Tribunal of the possibility of conducting any meaningful inquiry into the source of the leaked letter, and such as to deprive the Irish Times of their normal expectation that the Court would, in the exercise of its discretion, award costs in their favour. As a consequence, the Court ordered that the Tribunal were entitled to recover from the Irish Times the costs of the action in both the High Court and the Supreme Court.

This struck me at the time as a bizarre conclusion that undermined the original decision that the journalists did not have to answer the Tribunal’s questions. If the journalists had a privilege to with-hold the document and decline to answer the questions, then they had the privilege, and it doesn’t matter what they did with the document. Moreover, I argued that the costs order infringed Article 10 of the European Convention on Human Rights. I am therefore delighted to learn that the Irish Times is to challenge it in the ECHR:

‘Irish Times’ applies to ECHR over costs

THE IRISH Times has applied to the European Court of Human Rights concerning the award of costs against it by the Supreme Court, despite it winning its case against the Mahon tribunal … on the grounds that a number of the rights of Kennedy and Keena have been violated, in particular their rights under article 6 of the European Convention on Human Rights, guaranteeing a fair trial, and Article 10, guaranteeing freedom of expression. …

They point to the “chilling effect” of such an award of costs on the exercise of press freedom, pointing out that the ECHR has already ruled that an order to disclose sources cannot be compatible with article 10 unless it is justified by “an overriding requirement of public interest”.

The Court will first determine whether the application is admissible. If it is declared inadmissible, that decision is final, but I would be shocked if the case failed at this stage; since the case is not manifestly ill founded. If it is declared admissible, the Court will encourage the parties to reach a friendly settlement. This is, to say the least, unlikely, so the Court will then proceed to a public hearing to consider the application “on the merits”, that is to say, to determine whether there has been a violation of the Convention. This whole process will take several years. And Kennedy and Keena will no doubt have to visit Strasbourg several times. But they should be satisfied with their visits, not only as tourists, but ultimately as litigants as well.

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Reform of the UK’s libel laws could have interesting consequences for Irish law. A cartoon from a story in this week’s Economist sets the scene:

A few extracts from the article accompanying the above cartoon:

Improving a reputation

England’s strict libel laws face a shake-up

Selling legal services to people in other countries is a lucrative business for Britain, but where the libel industry is concerned the trade is increasingly unwelcome. Foreigners can sue each other in English courts, even when publication has been almost wholly elsewhere. .. For foreigners and locals alike, mounting a defence is costly and tricky. …

The fear of libel suits may chill academic debate (big medical companies have sued several scientists for criticising their products). Outfits campaigning against beastly regimes abroad say they have had to defang their reports because of the threat of litigation.

Many want the law to be fairer, simpler, quicker and cheaper. … Anthony Lester QC … submitted a private member’s bill which would make most of the important changes that reformers have been seeking. One would replace the flimsy “fair comment” defence (which easily gets tied up in questions of fact) with a new one of “honest opinion”. … A second change would replace the “responsible publication” defence, which puts more weight on procedure than substance, with one of “public interest”. … A third part of the bill would make it harder for corporate bodies to sue. Moreover, any foreign claimant would have to show that he had suffered “substantial harm” in England. …

Lord Lester’s Bill is available here, analysed on Banksy’s blog and on Inforrm’s blog; a note of caution is sounded by Zoe Margolis whilst Paul Tweed is critical. Though important, the Bill is simply one part of the current conversation about libel reform in the UK. Another important part is the difference of opinion between two retired Law Lords (Hoffmann and Steyn).

Of course, be careful what you wish for. In Ireland, the Defamation Act, 2009 has reformed our libel laws. However, by the time it had worked its way through the Department of Justice and the Oireachtas, it was considerably watered down by departmental conservatism and political compromise; but now that it has been enacted, there is little political will for further reform. Lord Lester’s bill is carefully drafted; but if it suffers the same fate as the Irish bill did, it may not achieve its intended end, and the opportunity may be lost.

Finally, if Lester’s Bill, or some recognisable version of it, becomes law, then English law will have achieved a better balance in defamation law than Irish law does. It could also have profound effects on the future of Irish defamation law. The 2009 Act it is an incomplete reform: its new centerpiece defence of fair and reasonable publication is unworkable; its changes relating to damages are very timid; it confirms that corporations can sue for damages; and it does nothing to prevent libel tourism (the phenomenon of plaintiffs touring for the most congenial legal climate in which to take a libel action). Ireland would then be faced with the following choice. Dublin could replace London as the libel tourists‘ most favoured destination; or we could introduce similar amendments ourselves. It will be interesting to see how all this pans out.

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I’m sorry not to have been able to acknowledge the celebration of AFAF’s International Academic Freedom Day on the day itself by a wonderful blog carnival on the right to learn, ably convened by Deirdre Duffy, and hosted by the ever-wondrous Human Rights in Ireland blog. I’ve blogged on academic freedom on many previous occasions (see especially here and here), and I’d like here look at some of the Irish legal aspects of the issue.

Section 14(1) of the Universities Act, 1997 (also here) provides that Irish universities have “the right and responsibility to preserve and promote the traditional principles of academic freedom” in the conduct of their internal and external affairs, and that they are entitled to regulate their affairs in accordance with their “independent ethos and traditions and the traditional principles of academic freedom”. This is an important guarantee of institutional autonomy, and is a sine qua non for the right of academics to teach, research, publish and participate in public debate without fear of retribution from their institutions. That right is secured by section 14(2) of the Act, which provides:

A member of the academic staff of a university shall have the freedom, within the law, in his or her teaching, research and any other activities either in or outside the university, to question and test received wisdom, to put forward new ideas and to state controversial or unpopular opinions and shall not be disadvantaged, or subject to less favourable treatment by the university, for the exercise of that freedom.

This is why, to take the example presented by Rod Thornton in his contribution to the NRinI carnival, research and teaching about terrorism are protected, even as Beshara Doumani’s edited collection Academic Freedom after September 11 (University Of Chicago Press, 1998 | Amazon) demonstrates the increasing antithetical pressures.

Article 13 of the Charter of Fundamental Rights of the European Union provides that “The arts and scientific research shall be free of constraint. Academic freedom shall be respected”. Read the rest of this entry »

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Angela Daly, a PhD candidate in Law by the EUI, Florence, has just published a fascinating article on SSRN on the extent to which the existing rationales for freedom of expression apply online.

The abstract provides:

The Internet, and Rationales for Free Expression

The changes to society brought by the Internet have prompted a challenge to orthodoxy in a number of areas of law, Intellectual Property being a notable example. Human rights, especially those related to information, knowledge and ideas, have been drawn into this re-evaluation, with various issues being encountered in practice demanding solutions that accord with respect for rights and freedoms, and with the functioning of this new technology. Nevertheless, the theoretical aspect of human rights in the Internet context has not been so much addressed. The Internet has implications for how rights are conceived, especially the freedoms of speech and expression. This study is an examination of whether the existing rationales for free speech and expression still apply in the context of cyberspace. These rationales, coming mainly from court decisions (in particular, the US Supreme Court) as well as the academic literature (notably Cass Sunstein’s work), will be examined, alongside observations about the state of play in the Internet, with Yochai Benkler’s elaboration of the development of “commons-based peer production” initiatives being of particular relevance. If indeed the Internet is significantly different from previous communication technologies, then this may require a different approach to how the Internet is regulated, including in order to promote and maintain free speech and expression.

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An extraordinarily important book is published today. It is Freeing Speech: the Constitutional War Over National Security (NYU Press | Amazon | Google Books) by John Denvir, Research Professor of Constitutional Policy at the University of San Francisco School of Law.

From the abstract:

The United States is in the midst of a heated conversation over how the Constitution impacts national security. In a traditional reading of the document, America uses military force only after a full and informed national debate. However, modern presidents have had unparalleled access to the media as well as control over the information most relevant to these debates, which jeopardizes the abilities of a democracy’s citizens to fully participate in the discussion. In Freeing Speech, John Denvir targets this issue of presidential dominance and proposes an ambitious solution: a First Amendment that makes sure the voices of opposition are heard.

Denvir argues that the First Amendment’s goal is to protect the entire structure of democratic debate, even including activities ancillary to the dissemination of speech itself. Assessing the right of political association, the use of public streets and parks for political demonstrations, the press’ ability to comment on public issues, and presidential speech on national security, Denvir examines why this democratic model of free speech is essential at all times, but especially during the War on Terror.

Courts’ interpretations of constitutions profoundly affect how we live. Many courts of final appeal accord very great deference to governments in the area of national security. In an era of political spin, not to say outright government manipulation of the media, government is often protected from criticism by government secrecy. Freeing Speech argues that we need a new reading of the constitution that both limits executive power and supports full, democratic debate. It is a message that is as important in the US (which is the focus of the book) as it is in Ireland, where the leading Supreme Court decision in this area is the deeply flawed The State (Lynch) v Cooney [1982] IR 337 upholding the infamous section 31(1) of the Broadcasting (Authority) Act, 1960 [(also here), as amended by section 16 of the Broadcasting Authority (Amendment) Act, 1976 (also here), ultimately repealed in 2001].

Mark Tushnet, William Nelson Cromwell Professor of Law, Harvard Law School, is entirely right when he says of the book that it offers “provocative suggestions for a First Amendment for our time, one that would provide us today with the information we need to govern ourselves”. Those interested in the issue should immediately purchase a copy of this book. Indeed, buy two (you can make a gift of the other to your friendly neighbo(u)rhood enthusiast for unfettered state power). Order them from Amazon, and while you’re at it, authorise Amazon to notify NYU Press to make the book available on Kindle.

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