Stepping away from the void: legal reform and abortion

If we learn only one thing from the recent death of Savita Halappanavar, it should be the importance of legal reform on the issue of abortion. The biggest problem with the law in Ireland on this topic, quite apart from the question of whether abortion should be allowed and in what circumstances, is that the existing legal position is unclear and hard to understand for both doctors, and their patients. In fact, there is no written law as such.

In 1992, the Supreme Court of Ireland held that although abortion was not allowed in the Republic of Ireland, there is a right to obtain one where the pregnancy puts the woman’s life at risk, or in this case made a teenager suicidal (you can find a summary of the facts and the case here). The Supreme Court stated:

the proper test to be applied is that if it is established as a matter of probability that there is a real and substantial risk to the life, as distinct from the health, of the mother, which can only be avoided by the termination of her pregnancy, such termination is permissible.

The decision as to whether the termination is permissible is left entirely up to doctors, with no guidance as to what factors might be appropriate.  In 2010, the European Court of Human Rights decided that even though there might not be a complete right to abortion, the lack of legal certainty was a violation of women’s rights as they could not obtain clear information about whether they had access to the procedure or not.

And now, two years later, it is sadly evident that the law is not any clearer, nor is it any better understood. If Savita’s life was at risk, as it seems to have been, then providing her with an abortion would have been legal, even under Irish law as it stands in this ‘catholic country’. A full investigation will hopefully bring more light to what actually happened and how such a tragedy could have been avoided. In the meantime, it seems hardly controversial to call for clarity in the law and a much awaited legal reform.

Legal reform on abortion is not, however, solely an Irish problem that we can safely observe from afar. If anything, the public debate surrounding the issue in the UK and the US, from movements supporting abortion service providers to Nadine Dorries’ controversial attempt to feed her anti-choice views to the masses through the medium of reality TV, shows that legal reform might also be on the agenda here.

Calling for legal reform on abortion is not necessarily a partisan call to action on one side of the debate or the other. Although it is generally seen as an anti-choice endeavour, especially following recent legislative attempts to limit access to the procedure (eg by lowering the time limit and changing counselling requirements for women), changing the law on abortion does not necessarily limit women’s choices, but can also lead to clearer rules and a broader consensus, which reflects true social positions. There are probably as many ways to deal with abortion in the law as there are legal systems, but specific examples can show different ways to approach the issue and maybe give some inspiration to legislators in Ireland and elsewhere…

What does the law say?

English Law

Contrary to what we might assume, English law does not recognise a positive right for women to choose to have an abortion, in the way that we have a right to freedom of expression and religion. Instead, the law provides a specific defence to cases which would otherwise be a crime according to two separate offences, both of which carry a maximum sentence of life imprisonment. The legal position is therefore that the action of procuring or attempting to procure an abortion is by nature wrong, but might be excused under certain limited circumstances. There is no right which guarantees or protects access to the procedure.

The offences which criminalise abortion are two very old crimes, defined in 1861 and 1929 respectively. They are:

  • Intentionally trying (or helping someone to try) to have an abortion, irrespective of whether you succeed, or even if you are not pregnant, and
  • Causing an abortion, either on yourself or someone else, when the foetus could have been born alive.

Since 1967, the pithily named ‘Abortion Act 1967’ has introduced a defence to these offences in certain specific circumstances. A person will not be guilty of an offence relating to abortion if the “pregnancy is terminated by a registered medical practitioner” and “two registered medical practitioners” are of the opinion that

  • The pregnancy has existed for less than 24 weeks, and “the continuance of the pregnancy would involve risk, greater than if the pregnancy were terminated, of injury to the physical or mental health of the pregnant woman or any existing children of her family”, OR
  • At any point of the pregnancy, there are serious medical issues relating either to the mother, the foetus or both.

So the ‘Abortion Act’ does not provide a right to abortion, but finds that in certain, strictly defined circumstances, trying to have or actually having an abortion will not be considered a crime. This is not because the woman has a right to decide and choose for herself, but only because doctors have found that continuing with the pregnancy will be damaging to the woman carrying the child or her existing children. Even under 24 weeks, it is not the woman’s choice which determines if she can have an abortion, but the doctors’ opinion on her mental and physical state.

This approach to abortion sets the UK apart from other countries, where there is generally a right to have an abortion by choice before a certain time limit. This is, for example, the case in France and Germany.

French law

The 12 or 14 week time limit applicable in France and Germany is often presented as imposing more restrictions than English law does. However, upon closer inspection, the law in both countries is potentially less severe than the English 24 week time limit. In France, for example, access to abortion is divided between two different procedures: ‘voluntary interruption of pregnancy’ (IVG) and ‘medical interruption of pregnancy’ (IMG). Each represents a different decision making process and attracts different rules:

  • A voluntary interruption must be performed by a medical practitioner, and has to happen within 14 weeks from the woman’s last period, which amounts to 12 weeks of pregnancy. During this time however, there is no limitation as to why a woman may interrupt her pregnancy – the fact that she decides to is enough, although she will have to see a medical practitioner and there is generally a time delay of a few days between the consultation and the procedure.
  • A medical interruption of pregnancy is also, as the name suggests, performed by a medical practitioner, but can be performed at any time during the pregnancy, in cases of grave malformation of the foetus and serious danger to the woman’s life. Certain conditions must be  met:
  1. It is not against the woman’s will,
  2. The disease is grave and incurable,
  3. Experts’ authorisation has been granted, and
  4. There are no other alternatives.

So, although the 12 week time limit for obtaining an abortion may seem more severe than in English law, the crucial difference in French law is that a woman who wants to interrupt her pregnancy in the first trimester (where over 90% of abortions happen anyway, in France and in England) can do so without having to seek any medical authorisation. Since 2001, French law explicitly states that it is her right to choose to have an abortion, and the only test is whether she considers that her pregnancy places her in a “situation of distress.” This approach ensures that it is truly the woman’s choice to have an abortion. Before 14 weeks, the doctor’s role is merely that of an advisor or facilitator, and is therefore closer to what it is in most medical cases.


The next step in making abortion more like a medical procedure is to decriminalise it entirely. This is the case in Canada, where it is treated as a medical procedure, regulated and protected by medical laws. This has been the situation for over twenty years, since a decision by the Canadian Supreme Court in 1988. Until then, the law regarding abortion was essentially the same as in England: intentionally trying to procure a miscarriage was a crime, unless the woman had a medical authorisation and the procedure was carried out according to various restrictions, including that the procedure should be approved by a ‘therapeutic abortion committee’ composed of at least three doctors and carried out in a hospital.

In 1983, 3 doctors were charged with the offence of trying to procure a miscarriage, based on the claim that they carried out abortions in their clinic without respecting those restrictions. The case went all the way to the Supreme Court, and the doctors’ lawyers argued that the law on abortion violated women’s fundamental rights according to the Canadian Charter of Rights. The court agreed with that argument (only one judge disagreed) on the basis that:

  • The law against abortion violated a woman’s right to security of the person (ie the right to do what one wants with one’s body and take personal decisions). In particular, the process that was imposed before a woman could have a legal abortion was too complicated and traumatic.
  • Although the state had a genuine interest in protecting the rights of the foetus, the law went too far and infringed on the woman’s rights more than was necessary to protect the foetus.

Different judges focused on different rights, but the core of the decision was that the legal complications created too many delays and possible complications when seeking an abortion, which could pose a significant risk to the health of the woman, both physically and emotionally. All the judges recognised the importance of protecting the foetus, but found that the law as it was did not strike the right balance between the protection of the foetus and the duty owed to the pregnant woman, especially as delays could lead to forcing her to carry out an unwanted pregnancy to term. The idea that a ‘forced pregnancy’ would be a particularly severe violation of a woman’s rights was strongly endorsed by the court.

Abortion in Canada is therefore not a crime anymore, although it doesn’t mean that access to services is necessarily easier. It also doesn’t mean that it’s outside of the law entirely, as medical law and ethics will apply to the medical decision of carrying out an abortion, and regulations about access to medical services will apply. Any violation of the rules surrounding medical practice and ethics might amount to a crime, but it will not be a crime relating to abortion per se.

Legal reform and policy

In terms of wider policy, the legal approach to abortion can be separated into three broad categories:

  • using the law as an expression of moral condemnation and prohibition,
  • limiting or cancelling the criminalisation of abortion altogether because of its negative consequences on women, and
  • including access to abortion services within a list of medical services that should be available to all women.

While France and Canada represent the second category of policy, English law still remains mainly the expression of a moral condemnation of the act, albeit with a limited medical defence. The fact that it does not recognise a right for all women to choose to interrupt an unwanted pregnancy, whatever the stage of the pregnancy, sends a clear message that abortion is morally wrong and therefore should be punished, except in certain limited circumstances.

This negative connotation is also reflected in the use of the word ‘abortion’ to refer to the procedure itself in English law. Although the process is referred to as ‘medical termination of pregnancy’ in the heading of the legal provision, the word abortion is more widely used, including in the title of the Act itself, which is the Abortion Act 1967. By contrast, in French law, the direct translation of the word ‘abortion’ (avortement) is not used at any point in the law: the term used is ‘voluntary interruption of pregnancy’ before 12 weeks, when the decision is made by the woman and ‘medical interruption of pregnancy’ after that, when the decision is made by the woman and medical practitioners. Meanwhile, in Canada, the Supreme Court justified its decision to decriminalise abortion by referring to the negative consequences of ‘forcing a woman to carry a foetus to term,’ shifting the emphasis on the consequences of not having an abortion, rather than on the procedure itself.

Although the word ‘abortion’ is technically neutral, it has become morally loaded, especially when compared to voluntary or medical ‘interruption of pregnancy’, and the concept of ‘avoiding a forced pregnancy.’ Those terms refer to the same medical act, but carry different connotations and are ultimately a reflection of the social policy implemented in each country. This lack of neutrality is partly because access to abortion represents much more than a legal problem: it’s a social question, a gender issue, a religious belief, a medical procedure, and a personal decision all at once.

The complexity of the question makes the quality of the legal answer even more important, as the recent case of Savita’s death has shown us. Ireland has avoided legislating on this issue for over 20 years now, and whatever the results of the enquiry under way, the lack of clarity in the law leaves a gaping hole where the legal safety net should be. While the law can often be an ass with little or unimportant consequences, the stakes are literally a matter of life or death in the case of abortion. This is why how the law is written and what policy it reflects is so incredibly important, whatever views one holds.

However, the fact that abortion is such a political minefield means that governments and Parliaments around the world often prefer to ignore the issue rather than risk alienating a whole class of voters. But just as a legal void can lead to tragedy, so a political void on the issue creates a space where personal and emotional arguments will inevitably lead to a skewed debate and eventually to bad law.


Reading the Riots Reader…

As followers of this blog will know, I recently took part in Reading the Riots, a research project looking at the disorder that took place throughout England last August… Despite being part of the project, I found it hard to catch up with everything that came out of it, and if the conversations I’ve had over the last couple of weeks are anything to go by, so have many people.

So in a quick (if larger than anticipated) blog post, I thought I’d go through the main articles about the project and what we found. A bit like a Reader’s Digest of Reading the Riots I guess… I decided to focus mainly on articles from the project itself, although if you’re lucky (!), I might do another post about some of the reactions to it, and obviously any comments / suggestions in the comments are more than welcome.


A lot of the questions that came up when people asked me about Reading the Riots related to the actual research project itself and how we did it, how we found so many people to talk to, how we did the interviews and how we knew that they were telling the truth and not just trying to find an excuse to their actions…

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Reading between the lines…

For a few weeks last month, my life got as close as it will probably ever get to that of a drug dealer’s, or what I imagine it might be (I mean, I’ve watched the Wire so surely I’m an expert, right?). My sister made the comment as we were having lunch in Kings Cross and I received a phone call, telling me to call somebody else to arrange a meet up with a third person, leading to an afternoon spent in the staircase of a council estate in South London…

I wasn’t flogging or buying anything, and I wasn’t involved in any illegal activity, although I was in the company of members of what has been referred to as the ‘feral underclass’. Sometimes it wasn’t in the staircase but in the living rooms of various council flats, ranging from well decorated cosy homes to run-down flats, located within a few yards of each other… Sometimes it wasn’t on a council estate at all but in a youth club in West London, or in the back room of a local pub, sipping a lemonade and listening to what the ‘underclass’ (or their mums!) had to say.

Sometimes the person I was talking to was enthusiastic and wanted to tell me about many things, seemingly happy to be listened to. At other times my questions eventually coaxed them into confiding in me and my little recorder. One night, I spent three hours talking to a group of young people demanding I explain why they should talk to me, to us.

Questions ranged from “why should we help you?” to “what do you mean by ‘involved’ in the riots?” and “if I take part, can I get a scholarship to go study at the LSE?”. They expressed frustration at being asked to take part in research projects and never getting anything in return, one of the many ways they felt excluded from a system they were not given the keys to.

It was also the first time in my life – and I suspect it might be the last – that I was asked to prove I wasn’t a police officer (I couldn’t, but I  seem to have got away with it…)

Some decided that my answers were convincing enough and came back a few days later to share their stories, others came back for more answers and others yet voiced their mistrust at the whole thing and vowed not to take part. All treated me with the utmost respect and asked important, insightful and challenging questions.

Others yet never returned phone calls or said they were too scared to talk. I saw a grown man swallow back his tears in a café as he told me he wanted to talk but just couldn’t right now. I don’t blame him for never calling back…

The last couple of months have been pretty intense, and I know it’s been the same for the many others working on the same project… But it’s been immensely rewarding too, and I’ve met many great and inspiring people along the way. It’s also helped me redefine what I want to do as an academic and researcher and has been pretty emotional at times, though as a good academic, I’m sure most of that will take weeks or even months to surface!

In the mean time, you can read all about it for yourself here, and you should. Because only then can you make up your own mind about what actually happened in those few days in August…

The F word.

An interview between Jeremy Paxman and Boris Johnson is always entertaining, the former a mildly sarcastic chastising headmaster to the latter’s cheeky schoolboy, but their little number reached new heights of randomness last week.

Sick vs Broken, Camera vs Riots

Newsnight had managed to corner the mayor of London the day after his own speech and before David Cameron’s big address to the Tory Conference, and Paxman brought up the issue of the riots and whether – I paraphrase – Johnson disagreed with ‘Dave’ about the fact that it showed society was in some way ‘broken’. Wary of being caught out in disagreement with his beloved leader, Johnson then launched into a bizarre argument about the meaning of ‘sick’ vs ‘broken’, which culminated in Johnson pointing out to the BBC camera in front of him and the fact that it might be ‘sick’ (the exact diagnosis remained unclear to the audience) but was still functioning and not broken. (full interview here)

So the mayor of London, city where most of the violence and disorder took place in August, manages to answer a question about a very serious issue by comparing the riots to a scuff on the underside of a camera. It’d be fairly amusing if it wasn’t so depressing.

Well, it might be the lawyer in me, but I believe that words matter. They matter in everyday life, but even more so when you are trying to control things with them, as the law does when defining contracts, crimes or constitutions. And because we are now in an age of constant news coverage, they also matter as soon as they come out of a politician’s mouth (or preferably before, but you can’t expect too much I guess…).

Comparing the riots and their impact and role in our society to a malfunctioning camera might seem innocuous in the context of the interview, but it trivialises a very important issue, from a man who arguably already took a little too long to realise their importance…

It’d be easy to dismiss this “playground” argument as just that, but it is just one of many examples of ‘soundbites’ regarding the riots, from the prime minister’s dismissive diagnosis of society ‘being sick’ to Ian Duncan-Smith’s focus on ‘gangs’ and the need to ‘find a way out’, rather than fix things where they are. Using soundbites instead of policy is bad enough as even Tony Blair, soundbiter extraordinaire, has acknowledged, but there is another darker side to this.

“Feral Underclass”

One word that seems to have cropped up regularly since the riots is ‘feral’. Often it was used in sensational headlines or in live interviews in the heat of the moment, but it finally caught my attention properly when I read Ken Clarke’s article in the Guardian about a month ago. In the article, the Lord Chancellor talks about the failure of incarceration when dealing with offenders, a laudable and interesting point, especially from a Tory minister. But despite some of the positive things said in that article, the opening paragraphs of the article rankled in my mind for a while after I’d finished reading it and I realised that, more than the often flawed arguments used by the Lord Chancellor, one word in particular was still bothering me: ‘feral‘.

And so I did what any good lawyer will do when in doubt: go and check what the law says. In this case, the law was a dictionary, and it told me that feral was an adjective meaning:

in a wild state , especially after escape from captivity or domestication (especially of an animal).

A feral person is therefore someone that escaped some sort of ‘domestication’ and returned to a wild, uncontrollable state. They are also, somehow, of an animal nature, and as friend pointed out a couple of weeks ago, the most common way to deal with feral animals is to terminate them when they represent a threat. These implications attached to the word ‘feral’, especially in association with the riots, are only compounded by the fact that the exact words of Mr Clarke referred to a ‘feral underclass’. Not only are they wild and out of the control of their ‘captor’, but they are also inferior (this is just based on the literal meaning of underclass. Inferior to what or whom is open to debate…)

As a politician and lawyer, Mr Clarke should know that whatever message he was trying to put across, it will be overshadowed by the use of that adjective and the words surrounding it. I’m sure, and indeed I hope, that Mr Clarke would deny having any such intention when he wrote his article but it barely matters. Words are what remain, black and white on the pages of a newspaper, on a computer screen and sometimes, tragically, in the mind the mind of members of this so-called ‘feral underclass’…

Some deserving messengers…

Belying the parting shot (literally!) at the end of my last post, here are a few interesting articles regarding the DSK case or rather, now it’s been dismissed, the ‘affair’. 

  • Clyde Haberman, who writes a blog hosted on the New York Times website, gives a stern but fair account of the unravelling of the case, both regarding the legal proceedings but also the wider context of what has happened, or seems to have happened… 
  • This article in the Independent is a more emotional account of why rape victims must have flawless past to get justice. It’s not just because of procedure governing the criminal trial though, and has much to do with the way rapists ‘pick’ their victim in the first place (hint: it’s not the ‘pretty’ or ‘sexy’ ones…). This is an important and rarely considered point, though the way Joan Smith applies it to the DSK/Diallo case is not exactly fair to the prosecutor. She asks: 
Are prosecutors really saying that anyone who has lied on an asylum application cannot be considered a credible witness in an unrelated matter, no matter how many years later and regardless of forensic evidence supporting their claims?
Although she obviously sees this as a rhetorical question, it is in fact not what the prosecutors are saying in their decision… If that were the case, it would indeed
be setting the bar too high, as well as sending a message that some potential victims cannot expect the protection of the law.
  • And, finally, from across the smaller pond, an article (in French) by an American lawyer reminding all those envious of such an expeditious and seemingly fair criminal justice system. Not only was a powerful and influential man arrested within a few hours of his being accused of rape by a chambermaid, but in four months, and after only a few days in prison, the case was resolved. However, as Mr Greenfield reminds us, it is 
but another example of a horribly imperfect system, upon which many lives depend, which has just had the good fortune of working well this time…

All’s fair in sex and law?

I’m going to make a wild assumption here, and guess that most of you won’t have read the ‘Recommendation for Dismissal’ filed in the case of the People of the State of New York against Dominique Strauss Kahn… And to be honest, it feels like many journalists haven’t either.

Which is a shame though, as it makes for a very interesting and instructive reading. It is hard enough to get any sense in stories of rape accusations, and even more so when there are politics and power involved. Which is why the motion to dismiss is impressive in its clarity and pedagogy to explain why the charges against Mr Strauss Kahn were dropped, point by point.

The proceedings

The initial important thing to remember is that nothing has been decided. The dismissal of the case does not indicate guilt or innocence, it merely indicates that there is not enough reliable evidence to put the case to a jury. The case can always be opened again one day if new evidence comes to light, or indeed if the complainant decides to bring a complaint in France.

However, in the meantime, the charges are dropped, and now that the court of appeal of New York has rejected the request for a ‘special prosecutor’ to be appointed, DSK will soon be free to go as he pleases, which will probably be back to France.

But what of the evidence you might say? Hasn’t Ms Diallo been vilified because she happened to have lied years ago on her asylum claim and she kept dubious company? Isn’t the physical evidence overwhelming, including vaginal bruising, semen and DNA samples around the suite and even blood?
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Forget about Supercop…

… what we need is the Interrupters!

In his search for the miracle cure to last month’s riots, David Cameron could do worse than take another break, though he won’t have to head too far this time. In fact, he won’t even have to leave London, he can just walk out of Downing Street, turn left up Whitehall, cross Trafalgar Square and straight into the Empire cinema on Leicester Square.

No, I’m not suggesting we need to learn from Harrison Ford and Daniel Craig how to deal with the violence on our streets, Cowboys vs Aliens style! (although…) But if he carries on a little further to screen 6, a room that sits no more than 25 people, he will be able to watch a beautiful documentary, funny, touching, humbling and so damn clever, a documentary that I am pretty sure will teach him more about how to deal with violence on the streets of London than any American supercop can (no offence, Harrison…)
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