Where there has been a long interval between crime and punishment, are we punishing the “person” who committed the crime?

Derek Parfit’s name is not widely known even though he was probably the most important moral philosopher of the twentieth and early twenty-first centuries. As a quintessential academic philosopher, he never sought the limelight and seldom gave interviews or engaged in public debate. However, he is in the news now, six years after his death, because of a major new biography of him by David Edmonds, Parfit: A Philosopher and his Mission to Save Morality (Princeton, 2023), recently reviewed by Stephen Mulhall in the London Review of Books. Parfit’s life is in some respects as interesting as his writings, largely because of his gruelling, unremitting work practices. He lived for his work to the extent that he always ate the same food and wore the same outfit of which he kept duplicates (a white shirt and black trousers) to avoid wasting time making choices. He read while brushing his teeth, though he could also occasionally be seen brushing his teeth as he cycled through Oxford.

Yet, he was also generous with his time provided it involved philosophy. Countless scholars who sent him drafts of articles or books on which they were working would receive back comments and suggestions that were often longer than the draft itself. He was a committed member of the effective altruism movement which entails giving 10% of one’s income to charity.

Parfit’s reputation rests largely on two books, published 30 years apart, though he produced dozens of articles as well. The first book, Reasons and Persons, published in 1984, secured him a Senior Research Fellowship at All Souls College Oxford, probably the most prestigious academic position in the world, and also the most advantageous (no teaching or examining, unless one wishes to engage in those activities). Then, there was the long wait (much to the exasperation of some of his All Souls colleagues, by all accounts) for the second book, On What Matters, which finally appeared in two volumes in 2011. A third volume, published shortly after his death, brought the entire work to almost 2,000 densely argued pages. Large chunks of it had already been in circulation for years before its publication.

Here, I want to refer to one passage in Reasons and Persons. Now, I should clarify that I have not read the book in its entirety and probably never will. It is not even on the retirement list (the retirement having begun last Thursday); re-reading the entire works of Jane Austen, P.G. Wodehouse and, hopefully, P.D. James takes priority there. Reasons and Persons, is by any standards, a very complex work, but one its central concerns is the question of personal identity. Is John, at the age of 70, the same person as he was at the age of 7, 17 or 27? Of course, he can possibly be said to be same person physically, allowing for obvious and natural physical changes through aging. But is he the same person mentally, psychologically, emotionally? People can undergo profound changes in these respects. At one point (p. 326) of Reasons and Persons, Parfit writes:

When some convict is now less closely connected to himself [as he was] at the time of his crime, he deserves less punishment. If the connections are very weak, he may deserve none. This claim seems plausible. It may give one of the reasons why we have Statutes of Limitations, fixing periods of time after which we cannot be punished for our crimes. [Suppose that a man aged ninety, one of the few rightful holders of the Nobel Peace Prize, confesses that it was he who, at the age of twenty, injured a policeman in a drunken brawl. Though this was a serious crime, this man may not now deserve to be punished.]

This claim should be distinguished from the idea of diminished responsibility. It does not appeal to mental illness, but instead treats a criminal’s later self as like a sane accomplice. Just as someone’s deserts correspond to the degree of his complicity with some criminal, so his deserts now, for some past crime, correspond to the degree of psychological connectedness between himself now and himself when committing the crime.”

This is an important consideration when dealing with so-called historic offences which are almost invariably sexual in nature. Suppose Matthew committed an offence of some kind, perhaps a sexual offence, in 1980 when he was 17 years. He died in 2020, two years before the offence came to light as a result of a report made by the victim. Matthew is now dead, but his twin brother Mark is still alive. Should we prosecute and punish Mark for Matthew’s misconduct? Obviously, we would not dream of doing so, because Mark is not the person who engaged in that conduct. But suppose, instead, that Matthew is still alive. Is he the same person who committed the crime when he was a teenager more than 40 years earlier? Or, to use Parfit’s language, how closely, if at all, is the now 60-year-old Matthew psychologically connected to the 17-year-old Matthew who committed the crime? If the connection is only very tenuous, or even non-existent, can we truly claim to be punishing the person who committed the crime?

This difficult and uncomfortable question is seldom considered when people are charged with having committed offences decades earlier, and especially when they were still young at the time of the alleged offences. Bear in mind that modern research shows that people do not usually reach full psychosocial maturity until they are in their early to mid-twenties. The Parfit thesis, as we might call it, gets some implicit recognition at sentencing where youth at the time of the offending reduces culpability, and abstention from further criminal conduct, together with being of general good character, since that time is treated as another mitigating factor.

Yet, it is a question that is seldom considered when deciding if a a person in these circumstances should be prosecuted or convicted, although it is equally relevant at those points in the process. Instead, when a person charged with a so-called historic offence seeks to have the trial prohibited, the question nowadays (especially in the wake of S.H. v DPP [2006] 3 I.R. 575) is whether the delay is such as give rise to a real and unavoidable risk of an unfair trial, with the burden of proof on the accused. It now seems rare in the extreme for prohibition to be granted on grounds of complainant delay, the general policy being to leave such matters to the trial courts. Yet, the courts need to think much harder than they currently do about this problem. Framing the question in terms of whether the person can still get a fair trial is really dancing around the issue. Where there has been a very long interval between offence and charge, as there frequently is, the more fundamental question should be who exactly is this “person” who is facing trial, and how closely is he (and it usually is a he) connected to the person who allegedly committed the offences. Are we really as distant from punishing Mark for the crimes of his dead brother Matthew as we like to think we are?

Of course, the Parfit thesis is also troublesome. For instance, his 90-year-old Nobel Prize winner is clearly someone who has changed, even been transformed, for the better. But what if he had changed for the worse? Even then, we have to ask if he is the same person as the one who committed the crime. If it is decided to prosecute him, he should be judged in terms of who and what he was a the time of the offence. His record in the meantime is of dubious relevance. Courts are sometimes inclined to treat convictions accumulated since the commission of the offence as an aggravating factor. Whether previous convictions, whether accumulated before or after the current offence, is itself a very troublesome question, and we will leave it for another day.

However, I thought I would mention the Parfit thesis just to get you thinking and talking!

Prison overcrowding is a relevant sentencing factor

Academics nowadays must pay careful attention to the impact of their published work, though “impact” is narrowly and rather strangely defined, for some purposes at least, as the number of times an article is cited by other articles. What brings this to mind is that I recently flunked the impact test in a big way, albeit in a political context. A few weeks ago, I gave a public lecture here at University of Galway where I argued, among other things, that sentencing should not only be consistent and proportionate, but moderate as well. (I am reliably informed that the lecture in question can be seen, heard and read at bit.ly/4553MOd, whatever that may be, and it can also be accessed through the Law School’s twitter account). The gist of my argument was that guidelines can be effective in promoting consistency and proportionality, but moderation calls for the involvement of other actors, mostly at political level. The severity or otherwise of a proportionate sentence depends on the legislatively prescribed maximum sentence. Ideally, therefore, we should have a general review of maximum sentences (a rather forlorn hope, I fear). Failing that, new maximum sentences should be set as low as possible, and existing ones should not be increased without a strong and compelling reason.

No sooner was this said than the then Minister for Justice announced that in addition to increasing the maximum sentence for assault causing harm from 5 years to 10 years, it was proposed to increase the maximum for assault on a member of the Gardai from 7 years to 12 years. This will apparently be accomplished in the Criminal Justice (Miscellaneous Provisions) Bill 2022, currently making its way through the Seanad. So much for impact! (Actually, I see the sense in increasing the maximum for assault causing harm to something more than 5 years because of the range of conduct the offence covers, but am not convinced of the need to go as high as 12 years for assaults on Gardai or ramming Garda cars.)

However, a further justification has now arisen for moderation in the use of prison sentences, only this time the courts are the key decision-makers. The justification to which I am referring is prison overcrowding.

According to the website of the Irish Prison Service which provides a daily statistical profile of the current inmate population and available bed capacity, there were 4,583 prisoners in custody on 2 June 2023 which meant that, overall, the prison system was operating at 102% capacity. Limerick Women’s prison was operating at 157% capacity (it was 175% a week ago) while Mountjoy Women’s Prison was operating at 111% capacity. On 31 January 2022, the total number of prisoners in custody was 3,835 (88% capacity) which means that, in less than 18 months, the prison population has increased by 750. For various reasons which I outlined in the aforementioned lecture, this upward trajectory in prison numbers is likely to continue. Some additional prison space may be needed, but this cannot be the full answer. Parsimony in the use of imprisonment and in setting prison terms is also essential for keeping the prison population within manageable bounds and for maintaining a humane and productive prison regime.

A recent decision of the English Court of Appeal underscores the legitimacy of treating prison overcrowding as a relevant sentencing factor. In R v Arie Ali [2023] EWCA Crim. 232, the appellant was sentenced to six months’ imprisonment on pleading guilty to assaulting an emergency worker (an officer in a prison where the appellant was then serving a sentence for an earlier offence). The assault was not particularly serious, and there were mitigating factors. The appellant had pleaded guilty, although belatedly. He wasn’t charged until 16 months after the assault and several months after being released from prison for the earlier offence. He had completed his licence period successfully and engaged well with the rehabilitation services. Moreover, because of Covid and industrial action taken by members of the criminal bar, there was a delay in the case finally coming to trial. The offence was committed on 20 September 2019, the appellant was charged in February 2021, sentence was imposed on 6 February 2023 and the appeal was heard and determined on 3 March 2023.

There were three grounds of appeal, but the Court accepted only one, namely, that the trial judge erred in imposing a sentence of immediate imprisonment. Normally, an offence of this nature would merit imprisonment, but the Court identified three factors that marked out this case as exceptional. First, there was the delay in charging and sentencing. Secondly, there was a realistic prospect of rehabilitation as evidenced by the appellant’s conduct since being released from prison in July 2020. Thirdly, and most relevant for present purposes, the appellant was being sentenced at a time when the prison population was very high.

Ireland is not the only country experiencing prison overcrowding right now. Courts in many countries are dealing with a post-Covid backlog of criminal cases which is one factor contributing to surging prison populations. In England, in November 2022, the Government had requested the use of 400 police cells to hold remand and sentenced prisoners (and there is a statutory basis for this arrangement). Further, less than three weeks after sentence was imposed in Arie Ali, the Deputy Prime Minister wrote to the Lord Chief Justice, saying:

You will appreciate that operating very close to prison capacity will have consequences for the conditions in which prisoners are held. More of them will be in crowded conditions while in custody, have reduced access to rehabilitative programmes, as well as being further away from home (affecting the ability for family visits). Prisoners held in police cells under Operation Safeguard will not have access to the full range of services normally offered in custody, including rehabilitative programmes.”

The Court of Appeal in Arie Ali quoted this statement and also the following passage from R v Manning [2020] EWCA Crim. 592; [2020] 4 WLR 77; [2020] 2 Cr App R(S) 46, an important authority on sentencing during the Covid pandemic:

We are hearing this Reference at the end of April 2020 when the nation remains in lockdown as a result of the COVID-19 emergency. The impact of that emergency on prisons is well-known…. The current conditions in prisons represent a factor that can properly be taken into account in deciding whether to suspend a sentence. In accordance with established principles, any court will take into account the likely impact of custodial sentence upon an offender and, where appropriate, upon others as well. Judges and magistrates can, therefore, and in our judgment should, keep in mind that the impact of a custodial sentence is likely to be heavier during the current emergency than it would otherwise be…. Applying ordinary principles, where a court is satisfied that a custodial sentence must be imposed, the likely impact of that sentence continues to be relevant to the further decisions as to its necessary length and whether it can be suspended. Moreover, sentencers can and should also bear in mind the Reduction in Sentence Guideline. That makes clear that a guilty plea may result in a different type of sentence, or enable a magistrates’ court to retain jurisdiction, rather than committing for sentence.”

(What I have quoted here is the Weekly Law Reports version rather than the garbled version that appears in Arie Ali).

Manning arose from an undue leniency application in respect of a 12-month suspended prison sentence imposed on an adult male for sexual offences. The Court of Appeal found this sentence to be unduly lenient and substituted a two-year sentence which it also suspended in full.

Both Arie Ali and Manning reflect the same principle: custodial conditions may affect sentencing decisions. They might, as in those cases, justify a penalty other than immediate custody or else a reduced custodial term. As Lyndon Harris points out in his comment on Arie Ali ([2023] 6 Crim. L. R. 431), there is nothing new about this approach which, as he says, is reflected in earlier authorities such as R v Bibi [1980] 1 W.L.R. 1193 and R v Seed and Stark [2007] EWCA Crim. 254; [2007] 2 Cr. App. R. (S.) 69. In the latter case, Lord Phillips C.J. had said:

In particular, when considering the length of a custodial sentence, the court should properly bear in mind that the prison regime is likely to be more punitive as a result of prison overcrowding.”

In fact, in the aftermath of Arie Ali, the Chair of the English Sentencing Council issued a statement referring to “well-established sentencing principles” which “include a requirement for the court to take into account the likely impact of a custodial sentence on the offender and, where appropriate, on others such as children or other dependants.” (I am indebted to Lyndon Harris’s comment for this information also).

That well-established principle applies in Ireland also, quite independently of the English authorities just mentioned and which are obviously not binding here. The severity of any prison sentence is a function not only of its length but also of the prisoner’s subjective experience while serving it. Thus, we readily accept that a given term of imprisonment will be more onerous for a seriously ill, disabled or infirm person than for a fully able-bodied person. (The classic piece of academic writing on this topic is Adam Kolber, “The subjective experience of punishment” (2009) 109 Columbia L.R. 182). That is why serious illness and disability are treated as mitigating factors (See, for example, People (DPP) v O’Brien [2015] IECA 1 and R v Hall [2013] EWCA Crim 83; [2013] 2 Cr. App. R. (S.) 68). The same consideration should apply where detention will be more onerous than is usual or acceptable because of overcrowding and its consequences.

Irish courts have rarely had to confront this question directly. In People (DPP) v Hegarty [2013] IECCA 67 the Court of Criminal Appeal held that if prison conditions are to be a relevant factor at sentencing (and the Court did not deny that they could be), there should be evidence of the conditions in which the offender is likely to be held. One difficulty associated with this requirement is that, at the time of sentence, it cannot always be predicted where an offender will serve the sentence (and it may be in different institutions over time). However, the data now available on the Irish Prison Service website means that prison populations can be identified in real time, so to speak. If, for example, a court were sentencing an offender on 1 June 2023, it could discover from that website that the previous day, every prison establishment in the country was operating either very close to 100% capacity or substantially above it . On 31 May 2023, Mountjoy Men’s Prison, for example, was operating at 106% capacity while the Women’s Prison was operating at 111% capacity. Wheatfield was the lowest at 93% capacity. All others were well above that. (To get this information, log on to https://www.irishprisons.ie; click on “Information Centre”, then on “Statistics & Information”, then on “Daily Prisoner Population”).

In practical terms, reliable information about prison overcrowding may tip the balance in a so-called cusp case in favour of a suspended or non-custodial sentence, as opposed to immediate custody. As it happens, both Manning and Arie Ali, because of the particular facts, could be regarded as cusp cases. Had they been significantly more serious, neither Covid nor prison overcrowding would have saved the offenders in question from imprisonment. However, even where imprisonment must be imposed, likely conditions of detention remain a relevant factor. In Arie Ali, the Court of Appeal said (Para. 22):

“This factor [prison overcrowding] will principally apply to shorter sentences because a significant proportion of such sentences is likely to be served during the time when the prison population is very high. It will apply only to sentences passed during this time.”

In Ireland, unfortunately, prison overcrowding is likely to be with us for quite some time. It is therefore a factor which courts can take into account, at least when imposing short to medium-length prison sentences. Such sentences, where they must be imposed, can legitimately be reduced because the custodial experience will probably be more severe or onerous than normal. The “punitive bite” will be equivalent to that of longer sentences served in better custodial conditions. Additionally, making sentences as short as possible will make some contribution, in the medium to long term, in addressing overcrowding.

In Seed and Stark (above), the English Court of Appeal observed that the “numbers of those in prison are a product of the number of custodial sentences imposed and the length of those sentences.” True enough, but prison numbers are also determined by the length of time for which prisoners are detained. An effective parole system is another essential piece of the jigsaw but, as outlined in a previous post on this blog, that is something we do not currently have.

Are guilty pleas the answer?

Should we encourage more and earlier guilty pleas in order to address overcrowded criminal court lists and the consequent delays in processing criminal cases? Embedded in this question are several moral and practical issues that I will try to tease out in this post. The question itself comes to mind as a result of a recent RTE Prime Time programme on delay in the criminal justice system. The Minister for Justice, who appeared on the programme, was obviously pinning his hopes on the appointment of additional judges, with more than 40 promised between now and the end of next year. The Courts Act 2023, recently signed into law, provides for the first tranche of these additional appointments. Presumably steps will be taken to ensure that registrars and courtrooms are available as well.

Of course, it has long been recognised that delay is a complex problem that cannot be resolved solely by appointing more judges. Unanticipated adjournments are also a significant contributing factor. A system of preliminary trial hearings, finally introduced in the Criminal Procedure Act 2021 (effective from February 2022), was long touted as a solution to that problem. Such hearings were never intended as a panacea, and there seem to be mixed views on how well the system has worked so far. It would obviously be beneficial to have an empirically-based review of these hearings once they have been in operation for two years or so but that, unfortunately, is something we are very had at doing in this country.

The workload of the Central Criminal Court has increased significantly in recent years, but the Circuit Court still deals with the vast bulk of serious crime. As mentioned by one contributor to the Prime Time programme, the current system of Circuit Court “criminal sessions” that last a few weeks at time and of which there are relatively few in the course of a legal year is no longer fit for purpose. In more populous areas there should be a Circuit Criminal Court permanently in session. This, in turn, may necessitate a review of prosecution arrangements outside Dublin with an increase in the number of state solicitors and panels of prosecuting barristers instead of “county prosecutors”, at least in areas where there are busy criminal courts. Delays in forensic analysis, especially of drugs, seem to be another factor contributing to adjournments, though apparently it is hoped to reduce those delays in the near future.

However, our concern here is with guilty pleas, a topic that also featured briefly in the Prime Time programme. More guilty pleas entered earlier might enable trials to proceed more expeditiously, or so the argument would run.

Guilty pleas have long been a feature of the criminal justice systems in common-law countries, but they were largely unknown in civil law systems. Some leading comparative law scholars, notably Professor Mirjan Damaska, have attributed this to different visions of the purpose of litigation. In civil law systems, it is about discovering the truth, something a court must do for itself rather than, for example, rely on a confession. In common law countries, on the other hand, litigation is viewed as a form of dispute resolution. A criminal prosecution creates a dispute between the state and the accused. If the accused admits guilt, there is no longer a dispute to be resolved. No trial is then necessary, and the court can proceed to sentence. However, there has been growing convergence between common law and civil law criminal procedure in this respect. Some continental European countries now permit agreements or confessions (such as the Absprache in Germany and the pattegiamento in Italy) which, while not exactly equivalent to guilty pleas, have the effect of simplifying and abbreviating criminal proceedings.

Guilty pleas are primarily of utilitarian value. They free up court resources and, in some instances, they save victims from having to testify and undergo cross-examination at trial. Neither of these claimed benefits has gone unchallenged. In particular, we have been warned against too readily assuming that victims invariably welcome pleas. Some might prefer to be able to testify in the course of a trial about their experience. Victim impact evidence at sentencing probably compensates to some extent for this. It used to be said that a guilty plea may indicate remorse and that this was one justification, if not the primary one, for granting a sentence discount. Undoubtedly, in some cases, a plea may reflect genuine remorse, but the more predominant and, it is suggested, better view today is that remorse should be treated as a separate mitigating factor, assuming a court is satisfied of its authenticity.

A guilty plea is probably the most securely established and widely recognised mitigating factor in the common law world. The principle, or theory, is that the defendant is being rewarded for having waived his or her constitutional right to trial. Yet, there are some who question the compatibility of the guilty plea discount with the presumption of innocence, and one can see why. Suppose two defendants are charged with having participated to an equal degree in a robbery and the appropriate headline sentence in each case is six years. One pleads guilty and gets a one-third reduction, bringing the final sentence down to four years, while the other is convicted following trial and gets six years. This differential may be rationalised by saying that the first is being rewarded for his guilty plea (the standard analysis) or that the second is being penalised for having exercised his right to trial. This is why some critics of the discount argue that it should either be abolished or else kept as low as possible (perhaps to around 10 per cent) lest it impose undue pressure, even on innocent defendants, to plead guilty.

The discount is certainly an incentive, but as the American political scientist, Ruth Grant, reminds us, an incentive should not always been seen as a bargain or exchange of benefits. It can also operate as a form of power. If an electricity company offers me a 20 per cent reduction on my bills for the next year provided I change over to it, it is holding out a mutually beneficial incentive (though I doubt if many of us have been offered that particular one in recent times!). But consider the recent Canadian case of R v Naslund [2022] ABCA 6 which attracted some international attention because the defendant was charged with murdering her husband who had abused her for over 30 years. If convicted of murder, she would have been sentenced to life imprisonment without the possibility of parole for 25 years. However, as a result of what was effectively a plea bargain, the prosecution and defence made a joint submission to the judge recommending 18 years’ imprisonment in return for a plea to manslaughter. That was the sentence imposed, and she later appealed against it, a very rare occurrence where there has been an agreed sentence. She succeeded. The Alberta Court of Appeal, by a majority, reduced the sentence to 9 years, and the judgment is interesting for its explicit acknowledgement of the power imbalance that can exist between prosecution and defence in such cases. Here, the defendant was faced with a choice between serving 25 years, and possibly longer, if convicted of murder, and being sure of 18 years (still a very long sentence in the circumstances) if she accepted the deal offered by the prosecution. The Court said (Para. 124):

It is within the discretion of the prosecutor to accept a guilty plea to a lesser-included offence, and that power risks leading to a coercive bargain where the alternative involves the accused having to gamble at trial with a possible mandatory life sentence.”

The Supreme Court of Canada had previously made a rather similar point in R v Anthony-Cook [2016] 2 S.C.R. 204, para. 52. This situation is unlikely to arise in Ireland where the practice of jointly agreed recommended sentences is unknown, but it still has a lesson for us. Where the objective is to encourage more pleas, there may be a temptation to increase the level of discount. That would certainly strengthen the incentive to plead but it might also increase the risk of innocent defendants pleading guilty. Parenthetically, it should be noted that increased discounts can also encounter public and political opposition as occurred in England and Wales in 2010 when the Ministry of Justice proposed increasing the maximum discount from one-third to one-half. It was estimated that this would lead to a reduction of 3,400 prisoners over a period of some years. However, following media and political opposition, the proposal was quickly dropped.

Let us now consider how earlier guilty pleas might be encouraged. The expression “cracked trial” may not be used very much, if at all, in this country, but is a well-known expression in England and Wales. There it refers to a situation where a case is set down for trial, but the defendant pleads guilty at a very late stage, often on the day of the trial. This problem received considerable attention from the Royal Commission on Criminal Justice which reported in 1993 (Chap. 7). The Commission recommended a graduated system of discounts, with the amount depending on the time at which an intention to plead guilty was first indicated. It further recommended that it should be possible for a defendant to seek an indication from the trial judge as to what the highest sentence would be if the defendant pleaded guilty at that point (which might be before or during the trial). Both recommendations bore fruit. The (English) Criminal Justice and Public Order Act 1994 (s. 48) provided that when sentencing a defendant who pleaded guilty, a court should take into account “(a) the stage in the proceedings for the offence at which the offender has indicated his intention to plead guilty, and (b) the circumstances in which this indication was given.” This is now codified in the Sentencing Act 2020 (s. 73). Further, the Court of Appeal in R v Goodyear [2005] 1 W.L.R. 2532 relaxed the strictures imposed by R v Turner [1970] QB 321, and allowed for sentence indications to be given on the application of the defendant, though subject to various qualifications and safeguards. See the more recent observations of the Court in R v Egan [2022] EWCA Crim. 1751 (and the comment by Peter Hungerford-Welch in [2023] 5 Crim. L.R. 375).

Here in Ireland we followed suit, but only in respect of the first recommendation. Section 29(1) of the Criminal Justice Act 1999 is clearly based on s. 48 of the English Criminal Justice and Public Order Act 1994, though phrased in more discretionary terms. Sentence indications of the Goodyear variety are frowned upon here, though they are not illegal. Perhaps the time has come to revisit the possibility of allowing such indications in Ireland. But that is a topic for another day.

The problem with s. 29 of the 1999 Act is that, apart from the discretionary element (a court “if it considers it appropriate to do so, shall taken into account…”), it says little of substance. Like its English predecessor, it merely provides that a court must take account of the stage at which the defendant indicated an intention to plead guilty, and the circumstances in which the indication was given. It is to be inferred that early pleas should attract more generous discounts than later ones, but the section does not say even that. Further, it offers no indication whatever as to the appropriate level of discount. That is left to the courts.

It had long been assumed that a guilty plea can earn a reduction of one-quarter to one-third of the otherwise deserved sentence, but it was only with the establishment of the present Court of Appeal that more formal indications of appropriate discounts were given. As a result of dicta in Molloy [2016] IECA 239, T.D. [2021] IECA 289, Whelan [2018] 142 and other cases, it seems clear that the discount should be in the range of 10 to 30 per cent, depending on the stage at which the plea is indicated.

If the discount is to function effectively as an incentive to plead guilty as early as possible – without losing sight of the ethical issues mentioned earlier – it must be clearly and formally expressed, but also graduated to ensure that early pleas are rewarded significantly more generously than last-minute ones. This can be done most effectively by means of a formal guideline, though failing that, it might be effected through an appeal court judgment dealing primarily and in detail with that principle (in the way, for example, the Court of Appeal considered the suspended sentence in W.D. [2020] IECA 145 and some other cases). However, it is also a matter to which the Sentencing Guidelines and Information Committee, now fully operational under the aegis of the Judicial Council, might accord priority.

Even if formalised in this way, the discount can have the desired effect only where there is some degree of certainty or predictability as to the headline sentence to which it will be applied. It is all very well to say that an early guilty plea will earn a one-third discount, but one-third of what? A defendant who has no idea of what the headline sentence is likely to be may be more tempted to opt for trial. The corpus of guideline judgments so far delivered by the Court of Appeal and Supreme Court are of considerable assistance in this regard, though formal guidelines would be more helpful still. Defence lawyers could then advise clients with a little more confidence as to what the headline sentence was likely to be and the discount that would be granted for a guilty plea, depending on when it was indicated.

However, there is a further complication. So far, we have proceeded on the implicit assumption that the level of discount should depend solely on the time at which the plea is indicated. But that is not how Irish law currently stands. The Court of Appeal has occasionally held that the strength of the prosecution case is another relevant factor. See, for example, O’Dwyer [2020] IECA 353, para. 47. Thus, there is less credit for a plea where the defendant was caught red-handed or the prosecution case is otherwise so strong as leave the defendant with no realistic prospect of acquittal. Granted, as the Court clarified in Howlin [2022] IECA 150, para 65, every plea has some value, however strong the prosecution case. After all, the defendant is always entitled to exercise the constitutional right to trial the outcome of which can never be predicted with certainty. Having said that, the Court accepted that “some pleas are more valuable than others.”

The history of English guidelines on the guilty plea discount is instructive in this regard. The most recent guideline on the discount was issued by the Sentencing Council in 2017, earlier guidelines having been issued by the former Sentencing Guidelines Council in 2004 and 2007. The 2007 guideline provided for a reduced discount where the prosecution case was “overwhelming.” However, among the key principles of the 2017 guideline is an emphatic statement that the strength of the prosecution evidence should not be considered when determining the level of discount. This is entirely consistent with the primary purpose of the revised guideline which was not to encourage more guilty pleas but rather to encourage those who wished to plead guilty to do so as early as possible. What matters now is the stage of the proceedings at which the plea is first indicated. For further analysis, see the review by Jay Gormley and others, Sentence Reductions for Guilty Pleas (London: Sentencing Academy, 2020) available at https://www.sentencingacademy.org.uk/pdf/sentence-reductions-for-guilty-pleas.

This is precisely the policy choice that will face the Sentencing Guidelines and Information Committee or the Court of Appeal in the event that either decides to issue a formal guideline on the guilty plea discount. The answer will depend on what the Committee or Court identifies as the ultimate purpose of the discount. If it is to encourage more guilty pleas or more early pleas, the stage at which the plea is first indicated will be the most important consideration, or perhaps the only one. Retaining the strength of the prosecution case as a relevant factor introduces an ethical dimension in the sense that it treats an offender as less morally worthy of the mitigation where the prospects of acquittal following trial seem minimal. In so describing it, I am not to be taken as suggesting that this factor should continue to influence the level of discount. All depends on the underlying purpose. It would, of course, be possible to devise a guideline, rather like the 2007 guideline in England and Wales, that incorporated the strength of the prosecution evidence as well at the stage at which the plea was first indicated, and specify appropriate discounts accordingly. But any policy adopted for encouraging more or earlier pleas must always be subject to certain ethical constraints to eliminate the possibility of convicting the innocent – even if it is a case of self-conviction as a result of pleading guilty.

Taking offences into consideration (again).

The recent judgment of the Court of Appeal in Coyle and Howard [2022] IECA 114 addresses some important sentencing issues but it is more noteworthy for one point it omits to address. This relates to taking offences into consideration. Each appellant had pleaded guilty to one count of violent disorder and one count of assault causing harm. Coyle was sentenced to an effective term of 5.5 years’ imprisonment (7.5 years with the last 2 years suspended for violent disorder and a concurrent 4-year term for the assault). The judgment records that the trial judge took into consideration five further counts, “being one count of assault causing serious harm and four counts of assault causing harm.” Presumably, “assault causing serious harm” refers to the offence of causing serious harm contrary to s. 4 of the Non-Fatal Offences Against the Person Act 1997. Howard was given an effective sentence of 6.5 years (7.5 years with the last 12 months suspended for violent disorder and a 4-year concurrent term for the assault). In his case, the trial judge took into consideration four further counts of assault causing harm. What prompts this present comment is the apparent decision of the trial judge to take into consideration a count of causing serious harm, an offence that carries a maximum of life imprisonment, when sentencing for offences that have lower maximum penalties (10 years in the case of violent disorder and 5 years for assault causing harm).

The offences arose from an incident that occurred in the early hours of 1 August 2016 when a group of four people who were heading from a pub to a takeaway were set upon by another group, including the two appellants. One of the victims, Mr. M, was subjected to a particularly serious assault. He was knocked to the ground and repeatedly kicked on the face and head, even after he lost consciousness. Two other members of the group targeted by the assailants who tried to intervene were also assaulted. In addition, another person, Mr. R, who came on the scene and tried to intervene was punched in the head by one of the assailants and he fell to the ground. There as CCTV footage of Coyle stamping on Mr R’s head and of Howard kicking him in the face, before being pulled away by Coyle. Mr M sustained very serious injuries that necessitated a 10-day stay in hospital. Three other victims, including Mr R, also required medical treatment.

There can be no doubt but that at least one of the assailants committed at least one offence of causing serious harm. The violence inflicted on Mr M, in particular, clearly came within the definition of that offence. There was medical evidence that he suffered “severe head and brain injuries as a result of the assault.” From the text of the judgment, it is not entirely clear what the charges or plea arrangements were. We may assume, however, that Coyle was at least charged with causing serious harm, as it was taken into consideration at his sentencing. It would seem he pleaded guilty only to the violent disorder charge and one charge of assault causing harm, possibly on the understanding that the other charges would be taken into consideration. This, at any rate, is what might be inferred from the judgment which states that he pleaded guilty to the two charges mentioned and that the trial judge, in imposing sentence, took the other five counts into consideration.

The practice of taking offences into consideration has twice been considered by the Court of Appeal in recent times. It was addressed in considerable detail in Casey and Casey [2018] 2 I.R. 337 where the Court held that it was generally preferable not to have recourse to this option when sentencing for serious offences, though it did not rule it out entirely. It gave a number of reasons for so holding. First, as a matter of principle, a discrete sentence should be imposed for each offence of conviction. It noted that in Higgins (Supreme Court, unreported, 22 November 1985), the Supreme Court had stated that a sentence should be imposed for each count on which a person is convicted by a jury (though the same doubtless applies to guilty pleas). As the Supreme Court observed, if the conviction in respect of which sentence is imposed is later overturned, there will be no subsisting sentences for the matters taken into consideration. The other reason, and a very valid one, identified by the Court of Appeal in Casey and Casey, is that taking offences into consideration risks giving the impression that the offender is being given “a free ride” for those offences, however serious they may be.

The same issue arose even more directly in Lennon [2020] IECA 30, which is the subject of a previous post on this blog. This was an undue leniency application. The defendant pleaded guilty to a number of charges, including two of witness intimidation and one of assault causing harm. The trial judge sentenced him to 4.5 years imprisonment for the assault offence and took the other offences into consideration. The problem here was that assault causing harm carries a maximum sentence of 5 years’ imprisonment, whereas witness intimidation carries a maximum sentence of 15 years. The Court of Appeal had no hesitation in finding an error of principle on this account. It varied the sentence to a total of 6 years’ imprisonment, which included concurrent sentences which it identified as appropriate for the witness intimidation offences that had been taken into consideration by the trial judge.

More to the point for present purposes are certain statements made by the Court of Appeal in Lennon. First, it said that a judge who is sentencing for a number of offences should identify the most serious offence and set a headline sentence by reference to that before taking account of mitigation. Then it said that “if it is permissible to take an offence into consideration to which a person has pleaded guilty”, it is not permissible to take a more serious offence into consideration when sentencing for what is clearly in the circumstances a less serious offence. The offence carrying the higher maximum sentence will not invariably be the most serious offence for this purpose. Regard must be had to the conduct involved. As the Court in Lennon said (para. 45):

There may perhaps be occasions where it is proper to focus on an assault which is accompanied by a threat to kill or seriously injure for the purpose of identifying the appropriate sentence, even though the latter offence carries a greater maximum sentence.”

The Court was presumably referring to a hypothetical situation where a person was charged with assault causing harm (with a maximum sentence of 5 years) and a threat to kill (with a maximum of 10 years) but where the assault constituted the most serious element of the overall conduct.

But, most significantly of all perhaps, the Court said (with reference to the particular facts of Lennon itself):

We are of the view that if it is permissible take offences into consideration for which a plea of guilty has been entered in the Circuit Court (a matter to be finally decided in another case), it is appropriate to do so in respect of the offences of criminal damage and possession of an article. These offences were part of the intimidation and have been reflected in the sentence for the second offence of witness intimidation.”

Clearly, therefore, the Court was raising a question about the general appropriateness of taking into consideration offences in respect of which there had been a conviction on indictment, whether by plea or otherwise. I suggest that this practice should be discontinued. In Ireland, unlike England and Wales, there has been a statutory basis for taking offences into consideration since 1951. Section 8(1) of the Criminal Justice Act 1951, as amended, provides:

Where a person, on being convicted of an offence, admits himself guilty of any other offence and asks to have it taken into consideration in awarding punishment, the Court may, if the Director of Public Prosecutions consents, take it into consideration accordingly.”

“The Court” is defined in s. 1 as any court exercising criminal jurisdiction. What seems obvious from the wording of the section is that, under it, a defendant may admit himself guilty only of an offence of which he has not been convicted. This is consistent with what we understand to be the common-law origins of the practice. It was to allow defendants, upon conviction, to confess to other offences they had committed and for which they were now willing to accept punishment in order to clear the slate. That, in turn, protected them from being arrested and prosecuted for those other offences as soon as they had served their sentences for the offences of conviction. Section 8 therefore does not seem to allow for the taking into consideration of offences of which a person has been convicted, by plea or otherwise. Perhaps the courts have an inherent power to take into consideration offences of which a person had been convicted following trial or to which he or she has pleaded guilty. But, even if they do, I suggest that it should not be used in respect of a serious offence – meaning, in effect, any offence prosecuted on indictment.

I would be prepared to accept, purely on grounds of pragmatism rather than principle, that a District Court Judge, when dealing with, say, a person convicted of a whole slew of road traffic offences may find it expedient to take some of them into consideration. However, offences dealt with in the higher criminal trial courts are of a different order. They are almost invariably serious in nature. (An exception might be a minor theft where the accused has exercised the right to jury trial under the Criminal Law (Theft and Fraud Offences) Act 2001, s. 53). As such, they deserve to be censured individually.

At this point it is necessary to say something about censure. In this jurisdiction, we accept that all the traditional justifications for criminal punishment (desert, deterrence, rehabilitation and so forth) have a role to play in our sentencing system. Subject to the limits imposed by the distributive principle of proportionality, any one of these justifications may be allowed to predominate in a given case, having regard to the circumstances of the offence or the offender. But every serious offence should attract some degree of censure in the form of a clear communication from the court to the offender, the victim (where there is one) and society at large that the conduct constituting the offence violated the behavioural norms which we are all expected to obey in order to preserve a peaceful and well-functioning society. That message is most effectively communicated through the imposition of a penalty. Censure is often associated, or even identified, with desert or retribution as a penal purpose. Andrew von Hirsch, a leading desert theorist, explains desert in terms of censure. In one of his later works on the topic he writes:

The criminal sanction censures: punishment consists in doing something unpleasant to someone, because he has committed a wrong, under circumstances and in a manner that conveys disapprobation of the person for his wrongdoing.”

(von Hirsch, Deserved Criminal Sentences: An Overview (Hart Publishing, 2017, p. 17).

This description of censure’s central role in sentencing does not necessarily exclude the pursuit of utilitarian objectives such as deterrence or rehabilitation (von Hirsch might not agree with me on that point). However, it rightly identifies censure as the essence of any criminal penalty. For the moral and social reasons mentioned earlier, every crime of which a person is duly convicted, or in respect of which they admit themselves guilty, calls for some kind of censure.

However, none of what I am saying here should be interpreted as an argument for harsh sentencing. Quite the opposite in many cases. In saying that every crime (or at least every serious crime) of which a person is convicted calls for censure, I simply mean that a court should subject the offender to some measure that communicates the socially unacceptable nature of the offending conduct and that imposes some burden on him or her. That burden might be a lengthy term of imprisonment or a modest fine. It might even be a probation order which, though rehabilitative in purpose, still restricts the offender’s freedom or autonomy to some degree. But the message is still being conveyed that the defendant has done something to deserve being subjected to the order.

How then might this policy be given effect if the practice of taking serious offences into consideration were discontinued? In most cases, bearing in mind that we are talking about serious offences, the solution will be to impose concurrent prison sentences. The ultimate sentence will therefore be no longer than if some offences were taken into consideration. But it has the principled advantage of ensuring that each offence of conviction is censured by having a defined term of imprisonment attached to it. Moreover, this solution would obviate the problem identified by the Supreme Court in Higgins (above), namely that if the conviction in respect of which a sentence was imposed is overturned, there are no further sentences to be served, even though the offences taken into consideration may have been serious in nature.

Some might object that my ultimate argument here is unconvincing because concurrent sentences entail no additional punishment for the offences in respect of which they are imposed, whereas it is permissible to increase sentence to some degree to reflect offences taken into consideration. To this I would respond that censure is essentially about the communication of disapprobation. The imposition of a discrete sentence for each offence of conviction expresses censure for that offence, even if some of those sentences are never, in effect, served. After all, the same argument can be made about the suspended sentence. A sentence of three years’ imprisonment, suspended on terms for three years, may never be executed. In fact, the hope is that it won’t be and, depending on the circumstances, the conditions of suspension may not impose any appreciable burden on the offender. However, the censure element consists in the court’s public determination that the offender’s conduct merits three years’ imprisonment. This is a clear expression of disapprobation and, as such, involves “doing something unpleasant”, in von Hirsch’s words, to the offender.

Returning, then, to Coyle and Howard, I am not suggesting that the sentences were too lenient, though they certainly couldn’t be regarded as too severe. If Coyle had pleaded guilty to the offences taken into consideration, the same result, or something very similar, could have been reached by imposing concurrent sentences. Of course, the court may have had little option but to proceed as it did if there was a deal to the effect that Coyle would plead guilty to violent disorder and one count of assault causing harm, while allowing the remaining charges to be taken into consideration. If that indeed were the case, then prosecuting authorities need to review the practice of consenting to serious offences being taken into consideration, especially if one of them is more serious than any of those to which there is a guilty plea.

Two great lawyers with West of Ireland roots: inspiring tales for the examination season

About a year ago, to mark the centenary of the NUI Galway Law Society, I wrote about some distinguished nineteenth and early twentieth century lawyers with NUIG or West of Ireland connections. Now that the students have completed their examinations (in person for the first time in ages) and are awaiting their results, it is worth considering how poorly examination performance can reflect a person’s real ability. Formal examinations certainly suit some, and high grades are often, not necessarily always, a prelude to significant achievements in later life. But, more importantly, many students who do not shine in examinations go on to achieve great things once they get the opportunity to develop their true talents and abilities. Consider the careers of two eminent lawyers with West of Ireland roots. One, as far as we know, never completed his degree programme here in Galway. This was Thomas O’Shaughnessy. The other, Lord Halsbury, was the son of a woman from Ballina and a man who spent time in Castlebar jail. He graduated from Oxford with a fourth-class degree but went on to become Lord Chancellor of Great Britain no fewer than three times.

Lord Halsbury

Lord Halsbury was born Hardinge Stanley Giffard in London in 1823. He had a rather unconventional upbringing because his father educated all his children at home mainly, in the case of the sons at least, in Latin, Greek and Hebrew. However, the father himself, Lees Giffard, had quite a colourful career. He was born in Dublin where the family owned Dromartin Castle, which seems to have been in the vicinity of Dundrum. He graduated in Law from Trinity College where he also received the LLD degree quite young, and this led to him being widely known afterwards as “the Doctor.” However, the family had difficulty persuading him to settle into any occupation (they wanted him to become a barrister as he eventually did), so they got him an appointment in the Stamp Office in County Mayo. While there, he met and in 1814 married Susanna Moran from Downhill, Ballina. But he soon ran into problems. First of all, he was still “seeing” another young lady who bore him a child and, as Robert Heuston states in his Lives of the Lord Chancellors 1885-1940, Giffard “seems to have been less than frank with either of the ladies.” Then he was found to have engaged in fraudulent conversion to the sum of £4,000 for which he was imprisoned in Castlebar. By all accounts, he was in no hurry to leave prison because he knew that, once outside, he would have to face his wife, the other woman with whom he had a child and his father (the High Sheriff of Dublin).

However, he was released in 1816 and moved to London where he eventually had some success, though not financially, as a newspaper editor. The family lived at Pentonville where Hardinge (the future Lord Halsbury) was born in 1823. Susanna died in 1828 after which Lees married a cousin of his who was still in her teens. Hardinge was admitted to Oxford in 1842 and graduated with a fourth-class degree in Greats (Classics) in 1845. This result probably reflected more on the system than prevailing at Oxford than on the knowledge or ability of the student himself, as some contemporary sources confirm. After a few years dabbling in journalism and other things, Hardinge was called to the Bar in 1850 and became a Queen’s Counsel in 1865. He had a tremendously successful career as a criminal trial lawyer and was made Solicitor General by Disraeli in 1875. Two years later he was elected as a Conservative MP. Thereafter, his career really took off.

Baron Halsbury, as he became, was appointed Lord Chancellor by the Prime Minister, Lord Salisbury, in 1885. His first tenure of that post was very short because, eight months later, the government went out of office. However, it was back in 1886 with Halsbury as Lord Chancellor and he retained that position until 1892. Then there was a three-year break while Gladstone was in power, but Halsbury had another spell as Lord Chancellor from 1895 to 1905 when he retired. In all, he was Chancellor for 17 years. Only one other person had held the office for longer. Then something happened that has made him a household name (at least in the legal world) ever since. In 1907, the legal publishers Butterworths decided to embark on the ambitious project of producing an encyclopedia of the entire law of England. Halsbury, then in retirement, was approached to act as editor-in-chief and he agreed, The first edition of Halsbury’s Laws of England appeared with remarkable speed in 31 volumes between 1907 and 1917. New editions have appeared periodically since then, and it became the tradition to have a retired Lord Chancellor as editor-in-chief. Both Lord Hailsham and Lord Mackay have taken on that role. This traditional may not survive because, as a result of constitutional reforms enacted early in this century, the Lord Chancellor is no longer a judge and need not even be a senior lawyer (though the holder usually has a legal background). However, irrespective of future editorial arrangements, the name of Halsbury will doubtless endure.

Halsbury, like his father, married twice, his first wife having died in 1873. He himself died in 1921 at the ripe old age of 98. One further accomplishment of his I should mention is that during his final term as Lord Chancellor, he succeeded in having enacted the Criminal Evidence Act 1898 which he had always supported and which permitted accused persons to testify in their own defence. That’s the one about “losing the shield”, familiar to, if not held in great affection by, generations of Evidence students. And yes, there was a question on the exam paper about it again this year!

Incidentally, it was in a solicitor’s office Castlebar many decades ago that I first caught sight of Halsbury’s Laws of England. I instantly decided that whatever else I might do in life, it would not be law. Imagine having to learn all of that. Obviously, I took some wrong turns thereafter, but only now do I realise how appropriate it was that I should first encounter Halsbury in that locality!

Judge Thomas O’Shaughnessy

Thomas O’Shaughnessy, or Sir Thomas Lopdell O’Shaughnessy, to give him his full and proper title, was born in Dublin in 1850. His father’s family came from Mohill in County Leitrim and his mother, Mary Anne Lopdell, from Gort in County Galway. He received his primary and secondary education in Dublin, and later studied at Queen’s College Galway (as NUIG was known between 1845 and 1908). He does not seem to have been awarded a degree as his name appears nowhere in the list of graduates published in the annual College Calendar during the late nineteenth century. However, on his appointment as Recorder of Dublin in 1905, the Irish Independent (24 June 1905) reported: “His early education was obtained at Belvedere College and Sullivan’s School and he had a distinguished course at Queen’s College Galway.” He was called to the Irish Bar in 1874, when he would have been about 24, and at the time it was not unusual for aspiring barristers to study for a short time at university before taking the professional examinations.

He built up a very successful practice and, unlike many of his contemporaries, he resisted the lure of politics. Ar one point, he was prosecutor in Belfast but, during the land war, he became a vigorous defence counsel. V.T.H. Delany in his biography of Chief Baron Palles (Christopher Palles, Dublin: Allen Figgis, 1960, p. 99) lists O’Shaughnessy as one of the titans practising in the Exchequer Court during the land war. He was also instrumental in moves to establish a General Council of the Bar of Ireland in 1897.

In 1905, O’Shaughnessy was appointed Recorder of Dublin, an office first established in 1564. It had a wide jurisdiction over civil and criminal matters. According to his biographer:

O’Shaughnessy spoke of himself as “the citizens’ judge,” He earned a reputation for fairness and compassion and brought to the bench a wide knowledge of human nature and a knowledge, hardly ever at fault, of the law. Understanding of the first offender who was the victim of circumstances, O’Shaughnessy was intolerant of violent crime, and while he was firm in his suppression of the mala fide traveller, he was just and fair to the law-abiding publican, notwithstanding his commitment to temperance.”

(Robert D. Marshall, “O’Shaughnessy, Sir Thomas Lopdell”, Dictionary of Irish Biography (Royal Irish Academy)).

He moved the court from Kilmainham to Green Street, but it was effectively abolished by the Courts of Justice Act 1924 which transferred its jurisdiction to the Circuit Court. O’Shaughnessy was then offered a High Court appointment which he accepted although, to the surprise of many, he retired in late 1925 (by which time he was, of course, in his mid-seventies). However, he was remarkably energetic during his short term as a High Court judge. He was almost solely responsible for setting up the Central Criminal Court and presided at the first trial held there, and at several more after that. He also sat on the Court of Criminal Appeal, including in the case of Attorney General v Keane (the bigamy case described in the previous post). The Central Criminal Court was presented with a very heavy list of more than 50 cases, including 16 murders, when it first sat in late June/early July 1924. From newspaper reports, Judge O’Shaughnessy was generally prepared to give offenders a chance, but if the crime was particularly serious he did not hesitate to add a few strokes of the lash to a sentence of imprisonment.

O’Shaughnessy died in Dublin in 1933. Sadly, both of his sons, one of them a King’s Counsel, predeceased him. One of his daughters was among the first women to be admitted to Trinity College Dublin from which she graduated in 1906. Her daughter (Dame Patricia Ridsdale), in turn, had quite a career. During the Second World War, she was Ian Fleming’s secretary and, assuming Wikipedia has got it right, she was the model for Miss Moneypenny in the James Bond novels. She was married to Julian Ridsdale, a long-serving MP for Harwich, and she was Chairperson of the Conservative MP Wives Association from 1978 to 1991 (which more or less coincided with the Thatcher era).

On a lighter and totally unrelated note, Vincent Delany in his book on Chief Baron Palles records that in 1854, leave was given to one Margaret Heffernan to have a stand for the sale of oysters in the yard of the Four Courts. What effect, if any, these delicacies had on learned counsel remains unrecorded. However, they had a choice of snacks from 1867 onwards because, in that year, on the recommendation of the Master, Mary Sullivan was allowed to have a stand outside the Master’s offices selling cake and fruit. Today we have the “Tea Room” with cake (if you’re lucky) and fruit, but not an oyster in sight.

I owe almost all the information given above about Thomas O’Shaughnessy to Robert D. Marshall’s excellent entry in the Dictionary of Irish Biography and to a lengthy obituary of O’Shaughnessy published in the Irish Times on 11 March 1933, as well as to some shorter pieces in other newspapers.

An early Irish plea for sentencing guidelines

Many of us, if asked when an Irish superior court was first invited to develop sentencing guidance for a particular offence, would probably say that it happened in 1988 when counsel for the Attorney General in People (DPP) v Tiernan [1988] I.R. 250 requested the Supreme Court to consider indicating sentence starting points for rape offences. The court declined to do so on that occasion. Recently, however, when researching some early decisions of the Court of the Criminal Appeal, using the Irish Times archive, I noticed that a rather similar request had been made more than 60 years earlier in Attorney General v Patrick Keane (Court of Criminal Appeal, Irish Times, 10 February 1925).

Mr Keane was a member of the Army who, while based in Tralee, had married an 18-year-old woman while his wife was still alive, although he had sworn that he was single at the time. Sadly for him, he was found out and, having been convicted of bigamy and perjury, he was sentenced to five years’ penalty servitude for each offence (presumably concurrent, though the report does not say so). Those sentences were imposed by Judge McElligott at a Circuit Court somewhere in County Kerry. Keane appealed against the severity of those sentences to the Court of Criminal Appeal where his counsel, Joseph Healy, is reported as having argued that “he thought that the sentences of a Circuit Court should, roughly speaking, correspond with the sentences given in the Central Criminal Court, and he suggested that it was not in the best interests of justice and of the Courts generally that sentences widely varying for these offences should be passed.”

Mr Bewley, counsel for the Attorney General, opposed the appeal and argued that in the case of a statutory offence like this, “it would be injudicious, and calculated to create an unsatisfactory impression, having regard to the evidence, if the Court interfered with the decision of the Circuit Judge.”

The Court of Criminal Appeal, in effect, accepted neither argument. It reduced each sentence to 18 months’ imprisonment with hard labour, to run concurrently. However, it also said it was “not to be taken as laying down any principle or any standard of sentence to be passed in the case of these statutory offences for the guidance of judges.” This bears a remarkable, though probably co-incidental, similarity to the words used by Finlay C.J. when delivering the majority judgment in Tiernan where he said (at p. 254) that in view of the importance of trial judges being able to impose whatever sentences they considered appropriate in specific cases, “I would doubt that it would be appropriate for an appellate court to appear to be laying down any standardisation or tariff of penalty for cases.”

Keane has other interesting elements as well. First, prosecuting counsel objected to the idea that army service should be treated as a mitigating factor and he said that “a reaction had taken place with regard to that.” What the reaction was I don’t know but I do sympathise with the general thrust of the submission. It used to be quite common to see army service advanced and even accepted as mitigating. That I could never understand. Membership of the armed forces is, of course, an honourable occupation, but the same can be said of most other occupations. Surely, a firefighter or someone who works in search and rescue services or in a hospital A&E department is just as deserving of special recognition as a soldier. In any event, it is unlikely to arise anymore. Courts nowadays, including the Court of Appeal, routinely refer to “a good work record” as a mitigating factor. Recognition of this broad character-based factor is far preferable to any practice of singling out specific occupations for favourable treatment.

Secondly, Keane got off lightly enough when compared, for example, to Joseph Sherry who was sentenced to seven years’ penal servitude and 20 strokes of the “cat” for armed robbery and wounding. The Court of Criminal Appeal refused leave to appeal against that sentence (Irish Times, 3 December 1926). This shows that corporal punishment was still being imposed and, indeed, it lasted for quite some time after that. It was not formally abolished until 1997 (Criminal Law Act 1997, s. 12). Whether the “cat” had any general or individual deterrent effect has been a matter of dispute, but it is unlikely to have been any more effective in that regard than any other punishment.

Thirdly, convictions for bigamy were by no means uncommon in the first half of the Twentieth Century. I once did a survey of the Irish prison population from 1927 to 1961, mainly to identify the offences for which people were incarcerated. During that period, there were 71 people (62 men and 9 women) imprisoned for bigamy, compared with 86 for rape. (There were 852 for indecent assault and 650 for homosexual offences, though that term was not used). There is interesting research to be done on the social and legal history of bigamy during this era. Emigration was probably one factor. Enormous numbers of people went to work in England or Scotland, either permanently or on a seasonal basis. There is a strong possibility that some might have got married after returning home, despite already being married in Britain or, more likely still, vice versa. Maeve Binchy once wrote an award-winning television play on the topic, Deeply Regretted By (1978 and set in Balla, County Mayo, if I remember rightly). Secondly, with communication and transport services within the country being primitive, compared to what they are now, it was fairly easy to escape detection. A man might, for example, be simultaneously married to two women who lived in different towns, perhaps 50 miles or less apart, and still get away with it, for a time at least.

In any event, Attorney General v Keane is of interest today because it illustrates that even a century ago, there was concern about inconsistent sentencing. Of course, the concern extends back further than that. In England at least, throughout the late Nineteenth Century, by which time the death penalty had, for all practical purposes, been abolished for everything but murder, and virtually all offences were governed by maximum as opposed to mandatory sentences, there were constant expressions of disquiet among politicians and members of the public about perceived disparities in sentencing. This has been charted by the late David Thomas in his short, but very enlightening, monograph, Constraints on Judgment: The Search for Structured Discretion in Sentencing 1860-1910 (Cambridge Institute of Criminology, 1979). The Alverstone Memoradum, a set of sentencing guidelines for commonly prosecuted serious offences, drawn up in 1901 by a group of senior judges, was largely ignored. (The text can be found in R.M. Jackson, Enforcing the Law, revised ed., Penguin, 1972).

Here in Ireland, therefore, the history of sentencing in the former Court of Criminal Appeal is bookended by two key moments. Within a few months of its foundation, it decided (in Keane) that it would be inappropriate to law down sentencing guidelines. But 90 years later, a few months prior to its abolition, it took a different course and delivered guideline judgments in Ryan [2014] 2 I.L.R.M. 98 and Fitzgibbon [2014] 2 I.L.R.M. 116. And that, as they say, changed everything.

The Attica Prison riot 50 years on, and how it may have changed our thinking about sentencing

On 9 September 1971, a riot erupted in Attica Prison in Wyoming County, New York. About half of the 2,200 inmates participated, taking control of the prison and holding more than 40 guards hostage. They presented the authorities with a list of demands, mainly for better living conditions. The demands were well justified. As Adam Gopnik wrote in a great piece some years ago:

Attica was a hellhole, The largest industry in a forsaken and impoverished upstate town, it was a place where urban blacks were locked up in bathroom-sized cells to be guarded by rural whites. Although Attica was a high security prison, predating the great incarceration crisis of the next decades, the prison population was the usual mixture of small-time thieves and mid-level drug dealers, mixed with a handful of violent offenders and some imports from earlier prison riots.”

(Gopnik, “Learning from the Slaughter in Attica”, New Yorker, 29 August 2016).

What differentiates Attica from the many other prison riots before and since is its tragic ending. On 13 September, by order of the State Governor, Nelson Rockefeller, 550 heavily-armed state police troopers, backed up by 200 sheriff’s deputies, stormed the prison. They began to shoot indiscriminately and, within a very short time, 39 people, including about 30 prisoners, were dead. The total death toll from the riot was 43. Much has been written about the Attica riot, and some American universities are currently marking the anniversary with exhibitions and other events. Here, I want to mention two important books that were probably influenced to some degree by the riot, although neither is directly attributable to it.

Discipline and Punish

In April 1972, the renowned French philosopher, Michel Foucault, while on sabbatical at the State University of New York at Buffalo, visited Attica. He was already interested in imprisonment. having established a “groupe d’information sur les prisons” in Paris the previous year. That group went on to produce many reports and proposals for reform. Foucault’s research for Madness and Civilisation (1961) had already exposed him to other kinds of institutional confinement. However, one of his best known books, Discipline and Punish (to give its English title) which appeared in 1975 was to have a profound influence on thinking about imprisonment. I won’t even try to summarise this complex book (and am not at all sure that I could). One important theme related to the transformation of penal practices from punishing the body (through capital and corporal punishment) to controlling the mind (through rigorously enforced prison regimes). More contentiously, he claimed that the regimes operating in prisons reflected power relationships within society generally. Foucault’s visit to Attica certainly had some influence on Discipline and Punish. See John K. Simon, “Michel Foucault on Attica: An Interview” 18 Social Justice 26, available at http://www.socialjusticejournal.org/wp-content/uploads/2016/09/45_03_Simon.pdf.

Doing Justice

Meanwhile, in early 1971, the Field Foundation decided to fund a major study on incarceration and requested Charles E Goodell to chair it. He was a lawyer and former Congressman who had just completed a short term in the US Senate to which he was appointed following Senator Robert Kennedy’s assassination in 1968. However, on failing to get re-elected in late 1970, he expressed an interest in doing something on prison reform. With funding of $175,000 (a princely sum in 1971), he set about establishing a committee of leading scholars to consider incarceration. If ever there was a star-studded cast, this was it. Members included Eleanor Holmes Norton (still serving today as delegate for the District of Columbia in the US House of Representatives), Alan Dershowitz, Harry Kalven, Willard Gaylin, Erving Goffman (author of the famed Asylums (1961)), David J. Rothman (author of The Discovery of the Asylum, among many other works), Stanton Wheeler and Leslie T Wilkins (two of the foremost criminologists of the 20th century) and Joe Goldstein (one of the leading academic criminal lawyers of that era). In retrospect, however, the most important appointment was that of Andrew von Hirsch, Goodell’s former legislative counsel, as executive director of the project.

When it first embarked on its work, the Committee for the Study of Incarceration had great ambitions. It intended to examine incarceration in all its forms – not just imprisonment, but detention in psychiatric hospitals, reformatories, nursing homes and even boarding schools. However, it soon found that it had enough on its hands with imprisonment. In fact, the Committee’s report, when published in 1976, was essentially about sentencing and, more specifically, about the permissible purposes of state punishment, although there were two chapters towards the end on incarceration and alternatives to incarceration. The form of publication was also rather unusual. All members of the Committee subscribed to the final report, in the sense that they agreed on balance with its general conclusions, though not necessarily with everything in it. Some appended their own reservations. The task of writing up the report was assigned to Andrew von Hirsch who had contributed enormously to the Committee’s deliberations. Thus was born von Hirsch’s Doing Justice: The Choice of Punishments (the Committee’s report), undoubtedly one of the most influential works on sentencing published during the past half century. As already noted, the project was not a direct result of Attica but, having been undertaken and completed in the shadow of that cataclysmic event, it cannot but have been influenced by it. (All further references to the book here are to the Northeastern University Press edition of 1986).

The bulk of Doing Justice is devoted to the rationale for punishment. It accepts H.L.A. Hart’s distinction between the general justifying aim of punishment as an institution (essentially deterrence) and the rationale for imposing punishment in specific cases (the distributive rationale). The signal feature of the report was its rejection of utilitarian justifications (and deterrence in particular) for the punishment of individuals and its adoption of what it called “commensurate deserts”. This was essentially a retributive philosophy with roots extending back at least as far as Kant, but the Committee and the author of the report preferred to avoid the language of retribution. Rather, they believed, the emphasis should be what an offender deserves for the crime committed. What should matter is the seriousness of the crime and that, in turn, should be determined by reference to the harm typically caused by the offence in question and the offender’s culpability. As the report states (pp. 74-75):

We think that the commensurate-deserts principle should have priority over other objectives in decisions about how much to punish. The disposition of convicted offenders should be commensurate with the seriousness of their offences, even if greater or less severity would promote other goals. For this principle, we have argued, is a requirement of justice, whereas deterrence, incapacitation and rehabilitation are essentially strategies for controlling crime. The priority of the principle follows from the assumption we stated at the outset: the requirements of justice ought to constrain the pursuit of crime prevention.”

Rather surprisingly, however, the report was prepared to treat previous convictions, or some at least, as an aggravating factor, a principle that fits uneasily with the report’s fundamental belief that punishment should be determined by the offence for which the offender is being sentenced. However, the Committee believed that penalties for first offenders should be scaled back significantly, and that more severe penalties should be reserved for those who had offended and been punished before. Repetition, it believed, was relevant to culpability though with the caveat that a later offence should not be deemed serious unless the harm it caused or risked was great (pp. 86-87). For a recent demolition of all arguments in favour of so-called recidivist premiums, see Michael Tonry’s similarly entitled book, Doing Justice, Preventing Crime (2020) pp. 102-113.

Von Hirsch’s Doing Justice was not the first modern work to espouse some version of retributivism. Most notably, Norval Morris had advanced a theory that became known as limiting retributivism – the idea that punishment should be at most proportionate to the crime. In The Future of Imprisonment (1974), he summarised it in these terms (p. 75):

To say that a punishment is deserved, in this sense, is not to say that it ought to be imposed. The concept of desert here advanced is one of a retributive maximum; a licence to punish the criminal up to that point but by no means an obligation to do so. For example, the principle of parsimony should also infuse all decisions as to the proper punishment to impose. Mercy, clemency, the avoidance of severing the convicted criminal’s social ties by imposing a term of imprisonment, are all values of importance to be served up to the proper limits of the larger social utility. The criminal law has general preventive purposes in relation to crime, cohesive functions in relation to society, educative and deterrent functions in relation to potential criminals, all of which bear on the determination of the proper punishment.”

Doing Justice expressly rejected Morris’s theory, arguing that the principle of commensurate desert bars disproportionate leniency as well as disproportionate severity (p. 73). Two equally blameworthy offenders should receive the same punishment; it would be unjust to treat one of them more leniently, even to advance any of the goals identified by Morris. Granted, this was a weakness of Morris’s theory. It failed to recognise that there must be a floor as well as a ceiling if punishment is to be even broadly proportionate.

Retributive theories of punishment, however they are named or characterised, are often associated with severe penalties. Yet, Doing Justice shows that desert by no means implies severity. Desert requires that penalties should be appropriately scaled according to the seriousness of offences. Thus, if the maximum penalty for murder is 20 years’ imprisonment, the maximum for theft should be considerably lower, and sentences for individual thefts should be scaled appropriately within that maximum. This is ordinal proportionality. But there remains the critical question of what the maximum sentences should be. After all, if the maximum for murder were 60 years, the maximum for robbery could be at least 30 years which, in turn, means that most sentences for individual robberies would be very high indeed, even though ordinal proportionality was still being observed. Cardinal proportionality requires that maximum sentences should also be kept within reasonable bounds. What Doing Justice suggested in this regard will raise many eyebrows today, as it probably did even in the mid-1970s. It recommended (p. 136) that, save perhaps for murder, the highest penalty on the scale should be five year’s imprisonment, with sparing use of sentences in excess of three years. This was inspired by two considerations. The first was the principle of parsimony (“that less intervention is preferred unless a strong case for a greater degree of intervention can be made”) and the second was the hypothesis of diminishing returns (“once penalties reach modest levels of severity, further increases are unlikely to have much added deterrent usefulness”). This remains an important insight and, as mentioned in a previous post, any review of sentencing policy and practice must pay close attention to maximum sentences and how they are set. (See “Sentencing Guidance for Witness Intimidation”, 22 February 2021, below).

Doing Justice has its flaws. For instance, the last chapter entitled “Just Deserts in an Unjust Society” acknowledges the problem reflected in the title, and refers to Karl Marx’s brief observations on the topic in his essay on capital punishment. However, the chapter affords little comfort to those who believe that a deprived background, poverty or other difficult life experiences should be reflected in sentencing decisions. In fairness, Doing Justice acknowledges its own limitations in this regard. The final sentence of the book simply states:

As long as a substantial segment of the population is denied adequate opportunities for a livelihood, any scheme for punishing must be morally flawed.”

Doing Justice today

In the 45 years since Doing Justice was published, Andrew von Hirsch (now writing under the name of Andreas von Hirsch) has had a very distinguished academic career and has produced an enormous volume of work, much of it devoted to defending desert-based theories of punishment. He has modified some of his views over time, and one of his more recent books, Deserved Criminal Sentences: An Overview (2017) crystallises his current thinking on the matter. Retributivism, whether described in terms of desert or otherwise, certainly experienced a renaissance in the last quarter of the 20th century and well into this century. One example of its influence is to be found in the (English) Criminal Justice Act 1991 which provided that a sentence should be commensurate with the seriousness of the offence. An exception was admittedly made for those sexual and violent offences where longer prison sentences were deemed necessary in the interests of public protection. However, the Criminal Justice Act 2003 (s. 142, now s. 57 of the Sentencing Act 2020) changed all that by simply listing a range of purposes to which courts must have regard when sentencing.

In this country, there is no statutory list of sentencing purposes as in England and Wales, Canada, New Zealand and some Australian states. In effect, however, we too favour a hybrid model. The dominant purpose of any sentence is determined by the nature of the offence and the circumstances of the offender. In fact, Ireland is quite exceptional in that some recent Court of Appeal judgments include very well informed discussions about sentencing purposes. This is something one very seldom finds elsewhere.

Additionally, here in Ireland the principle of proportionality reflects a desert-based philosophy. There is, of course, the conceptual distinction that desert (as a version of retribution) is a rationale or moral justification for punishment, whereas proportionality is a distributive principle. However, desert demands proportionate punishment, whether proportionate solely to the gravity of the offence or to the gravity of the offence coupled with at least some offender-related factors. The latter version is essentially equivalent to our overarching distributive principle of proportionality. Having said that, desert is not the sole accepted rationale for sentencing in Ireland. Other considerations, including deterrence and rehabilitation, are equally valid as reasons for punishment. But, whatever rationale is adopted in any given case, proportionality, as we define it, imposes an upper limit on permissible punishment. Essentially, therefore, we favour the Norval Morris approach. A sentence should, in the first instance, be proportionate to the seriousness of the offence, and no more severe than that, but it may be further adjusted both to reflect personal mitigation and to advance other legitimate goals such as rehabilitation. The practice of partly suspending prison sentences to incentivise rehabilitation is just one manifestation of that broad policy.

Final thought

On 1 October 1971, when Charles E Goodell was formally introducing the Committee for the Study of Incarceration at the Roosevelt Hotel in Manhattan, he declared:

“It is time we try to devise alternative measures to replace institutions of confinement – workable alternatives that effectively serve legitimate ends of society and yet do no deprive men of their human right to liberty.”

This was a noble ambition then, as now. Unfortunately, 50 years on, there has been very little progress towards realising it on either side of the Atlantic. It is unlikely that Goodell was a complete abolitionist, but the Attica riot, still very fresh in public consciousness, would have brought home to him, as to many others, the depravity and, in many instances, the sheer futility of incarceration.

A New Scottish Sentencing Guideline – The Sentencing Process

Most of us by now have some familiarity with the Guidelines produced by the English Sentencing Council and its predecessor, the Sentencing Guidelines Council. They can be remarkably useful elsewhere, including in this jurisdiction, for the purposes of identifying the factors to be considered when assessing the gravity of particular offences and establishing penalty ranges. Obviously, the specific sentence starting points and ranges they recommend are of little use elsewhere, if only because most prisoners in England and Wales serve no more than half of the terms actually imposed (though the statute law in this area is now exceedingly complex).

We tend to pay less attention to what is happening north of the border in Scotland, despite its population being about the same as our own (5.5 million there, 5 million here). Admittedly, there is a vast difference between the prison populations of the two countries. Scotland usually has an average daily prison population of about 8,000 (somewhat lower at present, largely because of Covid-19) while our average daily population is something less than 4,000. Rather paradoxically, however, when seeking inspiration for law reform and persuasive authority for advocacy purposes, we tend to look to much larger jurisdictions such as England and Wales, Canada, Australia and even the United States (with its 330 million inhabitants). Yet, the scale of the problems with which those countries must contend means that their laws, practices and institutional arrangements may not readily be transferable to smaller jurisdictions such as Ireland and Scotland.

It seems to be the fate of small jurisdictions that their laws and jurisprudence attract little interest elsewhere. But perhaps we also tend to shy away from Scotland because it is a “mixed” jurisdiction with elements of civilian law (derived from Roman law) and common law, and also because some of its terminology may seem strange (with its procurators fiscal, advocates depute, solemn procedure, and so forth). Further, Scottish criminal law has, traditionally at least, been based on common law to a much greater extent than Irish or English law. However, its modern criminal statutes are often of considerable comparative interest. I am thinking, for example, of the Sexual Offences (Scotland) Act 2009 and the Age of Criminal Responsibility (Scotland) Act 2019, to name but two. We might also take some interest in the work of the Scottish Sentencing Council, especially with the establishment of a Sentencing Guidelines and Information Committee here in Ireland under the Judicial Council Act 2019. However, I regret to say that, so far, the work of the Scottish Council has not been very inspiring.

The Scottish Sentencing Council was established by the Criminal Justice and Licensing (Scotland) Act 2010 (Part 1) and was formally launched in 2015. It is an independent advisory body with 12 members assisted by a secretariat, and its functions include the preparation of guidelines on the principles and purposes of sentencing, sentencing levels and related matters. Every guideline prepared by the Council must be submitted to the High Court (Scotland’s highest criminal court) for consideration. The Court may approve a guideline in full, amend it or reject it. So far, the Council has produced two short guidelines that have been approved, one on the principles and purposes of sentencing and another, The Sentencing Process, which has just come into effect and is the subject of this post. The Council has recently drawn up another guideline, this time on sentencing young people, which is about to be submitted to the High Court.

A few interesting features of the general statutory framework may first be noted. The Criminal Procedure (Scotland) Act 1995 expressly provides for the delivery of guideline judgments by the senior appeal courts. Both the High Court and the Sheriff Appeal Court, when disposing of an appeal against sentence, may pronounce an opinion on “the sentence or other disposal or order which is appropriate in any similar case” (ss. 118 and 189). In fact, very few guideline judgments have been delivered under these provisions since they were introduced more than a quarter of a century ago. The best known is probably Du Plooy v HM Advocate 2003 SLT 1237 on discounts for guilty pleas. The most recent, from the High Court at least, seems to be HM Advocate v Graham 2010 SLT 139, on sentencing for child pornography offences. Unfortunately, here in Ireland, such was the haste with which key sentencing provisions of the Judicial Council Act 2019 were drafted that they fail to state if senior appeal courts may continue to develop sentencing guidelines once the Judicial Council starts do so. In fact, some contributors to the Seanad debates seemed unaware that the courts had begun to issue guideline judgments. The Bill, quite famously, got very short shrift in the Dail where it passed through all stages in less than two hours. I believe that the Court of Appeal and Supreme Court may continue to issue guideline judgments, though they might decide not to do so in respect of offences or general matters covered by Council guidelines. Both, after all, are constitutional courts and it would take clear statutory language to deprive them of such a power, if it can be done at all.

As far as guidelines produced by the Scottish Sentencing Council are concerned, the Criminal Justice and Licensing (Scotland) Act 2010 (s. 6) provides that a court, when sentencing an offender, must “have regard to any sentencing guidelines which are applicable in relation to the case.” So, you now know where s. 92 of our Judicial Council Act 2019 came from. The Scottish statute goes on to provide that if a court decides not to a follow an applicable guideline, it must state the reasons for its decision. Our equivalent provision (the same s. 92 of the 2019 Act) states that a court must have regard to relevant guidelines “unless satisfied that to do so would be contrary to the interests of justice.” That phrase was lifted from the (English) Coroners and Justice Act 2009. s. 125 (now s. 59 of the Sentencing Act 2020), though the English Act obliges courts to “follow” any relevant guidelines, subject to the qualification just mentioned.

The Scottish Guideline on the Sentencing Process

This guideline, which became effective on 23 September 2021, has as its stated purpose to provide “a framework for the sentencing process. It sets out a sequence of actions or ‘steps’ which courts should follow in order to reach a sentencing decision, including some of the factors which may be taken into account. [The guideline is intended to] promote a consistent approach to the process of sentencing in Scotland’s courts and will enhance understanding of that process.” It is a short document the first part of which sets out eight steps that must the followed in sentencing, and the remainder is an elaboration on those steps. The first four steps “arriving at a headline sentence” are: (1) assess the seriousness of the offence; (2) select the sentencing range; (3) identify aggravating and mitigating factors; and (4) determine the headline sentence. The next three, “other considerations” are: (5) take account of a guilty plea; (6) consider time spent in custody, and (7) consider ancillary orders. Finally, under “imposing sentence,” step (8) is “impose sentence and give reasons.”

Headline sentence

The term “headline sentence” is now well familiar to us as a result of a series of decisions by the Court of Appeal. See, in particular, Molloy [2018] IECA 37. As to its meaning, the locus classicus is probably the following statement by the Court (Edwards J.) in Byrne (Leon) [2018] IECA 120 at [61]:

“A headline sentence is required to reflect the gravity of the offence having regard to the offender’s culpability and harm done. Accordingly, having identified the spectrum of penalties available to her, the sentencing judge was required to locate this particular case on that spectrum, having regard to its gravity, determined by reference to the culpability of the offender and the harm done by the offending conduct. We have previously recommended that a judge should perform an initial assessment of gravity based on the intrinsic moral culpability, and then adjust the provisional figure up or down, as appropriate, to reflect aggravating or mitigating factors bearing on culpability that are particular to the individual offender’s case.”

Under our system, therefore, a headline system is identified by reference to the gravity of the offence, gravity, in turn, consisting of harm and culpability. Certain aggravating and mitigating factors are, of course, relevant for this purpose. For example, a person’s culpability, as measured at the time of the offence, may be reduced by virtue of youth, disability, provocation, coercion or some similar factor. Likewise, certain factors may increase gravity, e.g. the use of a firearm unless this is a definitional element of the offence. However, many other mitigating factors (in particular) are not really relevant to offence gravity. They relate instead to the offender’s personal circumstances at the time of sentence (e.g. illness, disability, responsibility for the are of young children) or else to the offender’s response to the charge (e.g. a guilty plea or co-operation with the law enforcement authorities). Factors falling into this second category are considered under the second limb of the proportionality principle. Bear in mind that, under our law, a sentence must be proportionate to the gravity of the offence and the personal circumstances of the offender. It is for this reason that we favour the “structured” or “two step” approach to the selection of sentence, as opposed to the “instinctive synthesis” approach favoured in Australia where, according to High Court authorities such as Markarian (2005) 228 C.L.R. 357 and Barbaro (2014) 253 C.L.R. 253, a judge must balance all the relevant factors in the case rather than break the case down into component parts.

The Scottish guidelines smacks of instinctive synthesis to the extent that it requires all aggravating and mitigating factors, apart from a guilty plea, to be considered before a headline sentence is reached. Granted, the Scottish system is similar to ours in so far as it requires that all relevant aggravating and mitigating factors should be identified and appropriate weight attributed to them. However, in terms of developing sentencing jurisprudence and, above all, consistency of approach, our system seems preferable. (In this regard, it should be recalled that the Scottish Council’s first statutory objective is “to promote consistency in sentencing practice”: Criminal Justice and Licensing (Scotland) Act 2010, s. 2). Consider, for example, an offence for which there isn’t a formal guideline, and there are still many such offences in this jurisdiction. Let us take a case of theft where the offender had stolen a large sum of money from his employer over a period of years. Here, the trial court will be required, first of all, to fix a headline sentence and then make adjustments to reflect personal mitigating circumstances. Once all those circumstances are duly considered, the ultimate sentence may be much lower than the headline sentence. If the case goes to the Court of Appeal (and there is a strong chance that such a case will), that Court will be in position to adjudicate upon the appropriateness of the headline sentence which it may approve or vary. Even if no further general guidance is offered, the Court of Appeal decision will still be of some assistance to trial courts in identifying headline sentences in similar cases, while bearing in mind the well-justified caveats about use of comparators.

The Scottish guideline, on the face of it, seems less preferable in this regard. If headline sentences reflect all mitigating and aggravating factors, and not just those relevant to the assessment of gravity, they will fail to offer much by way of useful guidance for the sentencing of similar offences in the future. This is on the assumption that no distinction is routinely drawn between what we call a headline sentence and the ultimate sentence, apart from the guilty plea and credit for time in custody. However, the Scottish guideline has some positive features in this respect. For example, it deals in some detail with the concept of offence seriousness which, as here and in England and Wales, is an amalgam of harm and culpability. It lists some general factors that are relevant to the assessment of culpability, such as whether the offender intended to cause ham, whether and to what extent there was planning or premeditation involved, and the offender’s age and level of maturity at the time. Factors relevant to the assessment of harm include deliberate harm or degradation of the victim, multiple victims, a sustained offence or repeated offences against the same victim, and high value of property stolen.

Credit for guilty pleas

In Scotland, as in many other jurisdiction, a defendant who pleads guilty is usually entitled to a reduced sentence on that account. Jurisdictions differ, however, in terms of whether they treat a guilty plea as yet another mitigating factor or as an independent factor that calls for a “discount.” I wrote about this in a previous post, Sentencing Academy publishes papers on victim personal statements and reductions for guilty pleas, 24 December 2020. (There wasn’t much else to do on Christmas Eve 2020!). Again, I would draw attention to the excellent paper mentioned there, Sentence Reductions for Guilty Pleas: A Review of Policy, Practice and Research by Jay Gormley, Julian V Roberts, Jonathan Bild and Lyndon Harris, available at https://sentencingacademy.org.uk. English sentencing guidelines adopt the discount approach. Take, for example, the definitive guideline on robbery. A reduction for a guilty plea, where applicable, is given at Step 4, by which time the Court will have identified the appropriate starting point and category range, having had regard to all factors increasing and reducing seriousness or reflecting personal mitigation. Here, in Ireland and in other common-law jurisdictions, the general practice is to treat a guilty plea as yet another a mitigating factor that may justify a reduction in the headline sentence. Scotland has now adopted the English model because, as indicated earlier, any reduction for a guilty plea, described elsewhere in the guideline as a “discount”, is considered after the headline sentence has been determined, but that headline sentence, as noted, will reflect all other mitigating factors. In truth, the practical difference between the two approaches may not be very significant, if at all. Perhaps one advantage of the English and Scottish approach is that it ensures that a court will give due consideration to a guilty plea, since it is a distinct step in the sentencing process. However, in other systems, including our own, it is most improbable that a court would forget, or be allowed to forget, to consider a guilty plea, given its widely recognised importance for sentencing purposes. What really matters is whether the difference of approach makes any difference to outcome. Suppose, an offender pleaded guilty to robbery for which the headline sentence (as understood in our system) was fixed at 7 years (84 months). Let us suppose the court was satisfied that the appropriate reduction for the guilty plea was 25% and that the offender was entitled to further reductions of 10% for absence of previous convictions and 5% for efforts to address addiction since committing the offence. A total reduction of 40% would lead to an ultimate sentence of about 50 months. If the guilty plea were acknowledged by way of separate discount, the headline sentence would be reduced in the first instance by 15%, leading to a penultimate sentence of 71 months and a 25% reduction on that would produce an ultimate sentence of 53 months. From a defence perspective, therefore, our present system seems more advantageous.

Intoxication

The Scottish guideline includes a list of possible aggravating factors and a list of possible mitigating factors, the former being conspicuously longer than the latter. One of the aggravating factors is that “the offence was committed whilst under the influence of alcohol or drugs which were consumed voluntarily.” No further comment or explanation is given, but there is a similar provision in England and Wales in the General Guideline: Overarching Principles, effective from1 October 2019. The comment offered there is worth quoting in full:

“The fact that an offender is voluntarily intoxicated at the time of the offence will tend to increase the seriousness of the offence provided that the intoxication has contributed to the offending.

This applies irrespective of whether the offender is under the influence of legal or illegal substance(s).

In the case of a person addicted to drugs or alcohol the intoxication may be considered not to be voluntary, but the court should have regard to the extent to which the offender has sought help or engaged with any assistance which has been offered or made available in dealing with the addiction.

An offender who has voluntarily consumed drugs and/or alcohol must accept the consequences of the behaviour that results, even if it is out of character.”

We may leave aside for another day the third paragraph of this comment because it deals with the vexed question of addiction and its impact on criminal responsibility. Suffice it to say that courts in some jurisdictions, including Ireland, are prepared to treat chemical addiction as a mitigating factor at sentencing, in some circumstances at least. See, for example, Fitzgibbon [2014] IECCA 12; [2014] 2 I.L.R.M.116 at [9.3] to [9.8]. There is, of course, an abundant academic literature on this entire topic. See, for example, the various essays in Jeffrey Poland and George Graham (eds), Addiction and Responsibility (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2011).

Our concern here is with the impact of intoxication simpliciter on sentence. This is a matter on which there is little judicial authority, even internationally, which is surprising given the prevalence of intoxicated offending. However, from what exists, the general consensus seems to be that intoxication, whether resulting from drink or drugs, should definitely not be treated as a mitigating factor. The one slight exception to this is that an offender may be entitled to some mitigation if the intoxication caused him or her to act entirely out of character. Even this would probably apply only in a case where the offender was entirely unaccustomed to taking drink (or perhaps drugs) and could not reasonably have foreseen that it would or might produce the effect that it did. A number of Australian cases deal with this matter very well, e.g. Hasan [2010] VSCA 352. See also the observations of our Court of Appeal in Hynes [2016] IECA 102 at [54].

The Scottish guideline, as noted, simply states that it is an aggravating factor that the offence “was committed whilst under the influence of alcohol or drugs which were consumed voluntarily.” Certainly, this should not be a mitigating factor, except perhaps in the very limited and rare circumstance mentioned in the previous paragraph. Instead, it should ordinarily be a neutral factorl, though I accept that it could be aggravating, indeed seriously aggravating, if offender deliberately became intoxicated in order to summon up the courage to commit the offence or if, for example, the offender was well aware of his or her own propensity to act in an aggressive manner while under the influence of drink or drugs. The English guideline is a little more subtle in this regard in that it requires the intoxication to have contributed to the offending. In most cases it will probably have done just that, but at least a court must be so satisfied before treating it as an aggravating factor.

Sentencing for multiple offences

Sentencing has its share of moral and policy dilemmas for which there are no clear or, at least, no generally agreed solutions. The treatment of previous convictions is one of those and the question of whether multiple terms of imprisonment imposed at the same time should be ordered to run concurrently or consecutively is another. The Scottish Guideline is distinctly unhelpful in this regard as it merely states the obvious. Effectively, what is says is that a court has discretion as to whether to multiple prison sentences should be made concurrent, consecutive or partly concurrent. It notes that that court may impose a separate sentence for each offence or a “cumulo” sentence for all the offences. That expression “cumulo” seems peculiar to Scotland, and occasionally appears in its case law. However, the concept itself is well known to us.

The English Sentencing Council has produced a definitive Guideline entitled Taking Offences into Consideration and Totality which deals with the use of concurrent and consecutive sentences but, ultimately, it provides no greater guidance than the relevant common-law principles (applied here in Ireland and elsewhere) which it effectively follows.

To what extent persons sentenced simultaneously for several offences (or “multiple offenders” as they are often known nowadays) are punished more heavily than somebody convicted of only one of the relevant offences remains an open question. It is a rather difficult matter to investigate empirically. However, a recent study by Mandeep J. Dhami revealed that in England and Wales, being a multiple offender as opposed to an offender convicted of a single offence was not a significant predictor of whether a custodial sentence would be imposed or the length of a custodial sentence. See Dhami, “Sentencing Multiple-Versus Single-Offence Cases: Does More Crime Mean Less Punishment?” (2021) British Journal of Criminology (advance electronic publication, 21 May 2021).

Concluding comment

A question remains as to whether there is any value in the sort of guidance the Scottish Council has so far produced. It must, of course, be acknowledged that, so far, the Council has been concentrating on fundamental aspects of sentencing, and it may adopt a different approach once it starts formulating offence-specific guidelines. The first, very brief guideline, Principles and Purposes of Sentencing consists of a “core principle” that sentences must be fair and proportionate, and it elaborates somewhat on that, though in very general terms, by stating, for example, that similar cases should be treated in a similar way, thereby “assisting consistency and predictability.” It concludes by setting out the purposes of sentencing, but “in no particular order,” These are: protection of the public (including preventive measures and deterrence), punishment, rehabilitation, giving the offender the opportunity to make amends, and expressing disapproval of the offending behaviour.

The guideline under discussion here, The Sentencing Process, prescribes the steps to be taken, and the order in which they must be taken, when selecting sentence in any case. It therefore aims to ensure uniformity of approach. Outcomes may still differ even in similar cases, but the standardised approach may help to reduce unwarranted disparities. Even if it does not have that effect, there is still a considerable normative value in having all sentences selected by the same method even if, as noted earlier, aspects of that method might be criticised.

Meanwhile, as the Judicial Council here in Ireland embarks on creating formal guidelines, the Scottish experience shows that there is more than one way of approaching the task. Our guidelines do not have to follow the English model. The ideal, perhaps, would be something less prescriptive than the English guidelines and more prescriptive than the Scottish guidelines (at least as they are shaping up now).

Popular culture in the English Court of Appeal

There’s nought wrong with popular culture, as they might say in Coronation Street. Consider, for example, how influential it proved to be in Chipunza [2021] EWCA Crim. 597 where the question was whether a hotel bedroom was a dwelling for the purpose of sentencing for burglary. Under the English Theft Act 1968 (s. 9), as originally enacted, there was a single offence of burglary which consisted of entering a building or part of a building as a trespasser with the intention of committing one of certain specified offences. Alternatively it could consist of committing one of a number of specified offences after entering as a trespasser. In fact, that was also the law in this country between 1976 and 2001, as the Criminal Law Jurisdiction Act 1976 (s. 6) had inserted a new section in the Larceny Act 1916 giving burglary the same definition as it then had in Northern Ireland (and that, in turn, was the same as in England and Wales). The maximum sentence under both the 1968 Act in England and the 1976 Act here was 14 years’ imprisonment.

However, s. 9 of the English Theft Act has been amended by the Criminal Justice Act 1991 so that a burglary committed “in respect of a building or part of a building which is a dwelling” carries a maximum sentence of 14 years while in any other case the maximum is 10 years. The 1968 Act, even as amended, provides no definition of a dwelling beyond stating that an inhabited vehicle or vessel may be treated as a building or dwelling for the purpose of s. 9. Our current law, s. 12 of the Criminal Justice (Theft and Fraud Offences) Act 2001, does not distinguish between burglaries of dwellings and burglaries of other premises. Burglary consists simply of entering a building or part of a building as a trespasser with the intent to commit an arrestable offence or of committing such an offence after entering as a trespasser. Much like the previous legislation, it specifies that a building for this purpose may consist of an inhabited vehicle, vessel or moveable structure. In any case, following conviction on indictment, the maximum sentence is 14 years’ imprisonment.

Perhaps it is just as well that we don’t make a formal distinction between dwellings and other buildings for either definitional or sentencing purposes. Chipunza and several earlier cases mentioned in it illustrate the difficulties to which such a distinction can give rise. Is a new house that is all but completed but not yet lived in a dwelling? What about a rented house that is vacant because the previous tenants have moved out and new tenants have yet to be found? What about an abandoned or derelict house? And then, what about hotel rooms?

That Mr Chipunza committed burglary was not in question. In fact, he pleaded guilty, but only to an alternative charge of burglary of a part of a building (i.e. a hotel room). He contested the first charge which alleged burglary of a dwelling (i.e. the same hotel room). However, the plea was not acceptable to the prosecution. He had entered a hotel room while it was being cleaned and pretended to be the occupant. He even persuaded a member of the hotel staff to open the safe, but there was nothing in it. He was found out very soon afterwards. The real occupant was a woman who lived in Birmingham but who, for work purposes, spent three nights a week in London, staying in different hotels. She was booked into this particular hotel for three nights of the week in question. So, was the hotel room her dwelling?

The trial judge’s charge to the jury following a two-day trial which resulted in the appellant’s conviction was parsed and analysed in detail by the Court of Appeal and found wanting in a number of respects. The judge should have explained to the jury what a dwelling is and, according to the Court of Appeal, “[i]t would have been sufficient to say a dwelling is a building or part of a building in which a person is living and makes his/her/their home” (Para. 42). Typical examples of dwellings are houses and apartments. This definition should have been followed by drawing the jury’s attention to a list of features (set out at Para. 37 of the judgment) which pointed away from the hotel room in this instance being the dwelling of the woman who was staying there. Because of what was perceived to be an imbalanced account of these matters in the judge’s summing up, the conviction was quashed and no retrial was sought on the charge alleging burglary of a dwelling. The alternative burglary charge could however be resurrected.

The trial judge had also addressed the jury after they returned the verdict and what he said on that occasion would have been remarkably useful if he had included it in his charge. At that point he mentioned that some people may live permanently in hotels and he referred to the Major in Fawlty Towers who was a permanent resident in that iconic hotel (my description, not the court’s). As the Court of Appeal said, it was a pity he did not mention this in his summing up as it might have alerted the jury to the distinction between permanent residence (in which case a hotel room would probably be a dwelling) and more transient residence for one or two nights. (Some students of Fawlty Towers claim that of all the hotel residents (including Mrs Fawlty), the Major was probably the only one Basil actually liked, or at least found tolerable). The upshot of the matter appears to be that whether a hotel room is a dwelling will depend on the extent to which the occupant makes it their home, at least for a significant period of time, as opposed to it being just a transient place of occupation for a short period. Thus, a room in a student hall of residence would be the student’s dwelling, even though the student also lived at home or elsewhere some of the time.

Permanent hotel residents didn’t exist only in the realm of fiction. In mid-twentieth century New York many women (in particular) lived permanently in hotels. Perhaps the best known of these was the Irish-American writer, Maeve Brennan, an occasional resident at the Algonquin among many other establishments, who in her wonderful columns for the New Yorker in the 1950s and 1960s often mentioned the hotels in which she was currently living. A fine collection of her writings was later published in The Long-Winded Lady: Notes from the New Yorker (2000). Closer to home, back in the early 1970s I recall some UCG staff members living permanently in various hotels, including the Skeffington Arms. Some of the rest of us might be said to have lived there too, but not as residents!

Returning to the question of sentencing for burglary, it is probably better on balance to have a single statutory offence covering criminal trespass on buildings of all kinds. Any special provision for dwellings may give rise to definitional problems, as illustrated by Chipunza and earlier cases. Sentencing guidelines can, of course, make appropriate distinctions between degrees of gravity, and residential burglary will ordinarily be treated as more serious than other burglaries because of the special protection afforded to dwellings under Art. 40.5 of the Constitution and the well documented impact of home invasion on victims. This is reflected in our formal burglary guideline, Casey and Casey [2018] 2 I.R. 337. Burglary of a hotel room will ordinarily be on a par with burglary of a private residence. As it happens, we do have a statutory provision governing residential burglary, and this is the Criminal Justice (Burglary of Dwellings) Act 2015 which mandates consecutive sentence for repeat residential burglaries where certain conditions are fulfilled. However, “dwelling” is rather tautologically defined as including “a building or structure (whether temporary or not) which is constructed or adapted for use as a dwelling and is being so used.” There was great hoopla surrounding this Act when it was first introduced, though it has received little attention ever since. How often it is applied at trial court level I don’t know, but I cannot offhand recall it ever featuring in a Court of Appeal judgment (though I am subject to correction on that). Perhaps because of the temporal conditions that must be fulfilled, the Act hasn’t yet had the opportunity to make its presence felt.

In fact, there was a recidivist statute at issue in Chipunza as well. This would have been the appellant’s “third qualifying” domestic burglary under the terms of the Powers of the Criminal Courts (Sentencing) Act 2000, s. 111 which meant that, if now convicted of the burglary of a dwelling, he would have to receive a sentence of at least three years’ imprisonment unless the court considered that such a sentence would be unjust in the circumstances. The trial judge eventually decided not to impose the three-year minimum; instead, he imposed 30 months with an eight-month consecutive sentence for an unrelated offence. However, that was why the question of whether Chipunza had committed burglary of a dwelling was so important at the outset.

Fleetwood Mac

Ibrahim Usman was on trial in the Crown Court on charges that included possession of firearms with intent to endanger life. He gave evidence and was cross-examined by counsel for a co-defendant before being cross-examined by the prosecution. There was then a break in the proceedings and, as the jury were leaving the court, one of them sang out loud the words of a Fleetwood Mac song “Tell me lies, tell me sweet little lies”. Should the judge then have discharged the jury (which he did not)? This was the question the Court of Appeal had to decide in Usman [2021] EWCA Crim. 360. The Court cannot be accused of having kept us in suspense because, in a short two-page judgment, it dismissed the appeal.

The trial judge had, as might be expected, immediately discharged the Fleetwood Mac fan from the jury. He then enquired of the remaining jurors if they could continue to try the case fairly and properly. Each of them replied in the affirmative. The trial therefore continued, and ended with the conviction of the appellant. The Court of Appeal held that the discharge of the single juror was sufficient in this case, and went further by saying (Para. 5): “Indeed it seems to us that the fact that the offending juror had been discharged must have acted as a salutary reminder to the jury of the need not to exhibit prejudicial conduct.” It further said (Para. 6) that if the appellant’s argument (that the entire jury should have been discharged) was accepted, it would mean that “any expression of prejudice by one juror in the course of a trial, for example, by calling out “liar” or making some such remark, even without musical accompaniment, would potentially lead to the case having to be started again.”

The Court was referred to Kellard [1995] 2 Cr. App. R. 134 where the trial judge refused to discharge a jury member (who also happened to be the foreman) because of certain hostile remarks and grimaces she had made during a defendant’s cross-examination. The trial judge refused to discharge the juror in question, saying that just because it becomes apparent to a defendant that his evidence is not being well received by one juror does not mean that the juror should be discharged when there was no reason to believe that she would not be true to her oath. The Court of Appeal agreed. Kellard is a good example of case where the discharge of the entire jury would have been very much the nuclear option, as it was a fraudulent trading case that lasted 252 working days.

In a similar vein, the Court in Usman held that the musical performance to which the court and all therein had been treated did not create a risk of bias or unfairness.

I know little about Fleetwood Mac except that they seem to be around for almost as long as myself. Having checked out the lyrics of “Tell me lies” on the internet, I would respectfully say that, while it may appeal to some, Wordsworth or Tennyson it ain’t. Certainly not Horace, the greatest of them all.

Offences created by statutory instrument – should ignorance of the law be an excuse or, at least, afford mitigation?

In one of his great constitutional judgments, King v Attorney General [1981] I.R. 233, Mr Justice Henchy referred (p. 257) to “the basic concept inherent in our legal system that a man may walk abroad in the secure knowledge that he will not be singled out from his fellow-citizens and branded and punished as a criminal unless it has been established beyond reasonable doubt that he has deviated from a clearly prescribed standard of conduct.” In that case, part of an early nineteenth century vagrancy statute was found to be inconsistent with the Constitution on a number of grounds including, in the view of Henchy J., its inherent vagueness. The passage just quoted gives eloquent expression to one aspect of the principle of legality, which is trebly protected by the common law, the Constitution and art. 7 of the European Convention on Human Rights, namely, that criminal offences should be clearly and specifically defined so that each of us knows or is able to ascertain what exactly the law prohibits. It would scarcely be acceptable in a liberal democracy claiming fidelity to the rule of law if an accused person had to await the verdict by a criminal court in order to discover if the alleged conduct amounted to a criminal offence in the first place.

It is surely equally important that before anyone – man, woman or child – walks abroad, they should have reasonable notice of what the criminal law prohibits. Professor Andrew Ashworth, in leading article to which I will refer later, quotes the late John Gardner (onetime Professor of Jurisprudence at Oxford) who wrote:

The law must avoid taking people by surprise, ambushing them, putting them into conflict with its requirements in such a way as to defeat their expectations and frustrate their plans.”

One can scarcely dispute that proposition, and certainly not when it relates to the criminal law. What the criminal law prohibits should be effectively publicised. More than 35 years ago, Meir Dan-Cohen drew attention to the distinction between conduct rules and decision rules in the criminal law. Conduct rules (typically in the form of “thou shalt not”) are addressed to the public at large whereas decision-rules including, for example, the availability of defences are usually more selectively transmitted to officials responsible for administering the law (“Decision rules and conduct rules: On acoustic separation in criminal law” (1984) 97 Harvard Law Review 625). Whatever the legitimacy of selectively transmitting decision rules (and Dan-Cohen seriously questions it), there can be no doubt about the moral necessity of communicating conduct rules to the public. Simply put, we are entitled to be made aware of which acts and omissions constitute criminal offences. We tend to assume, realistically or otherwise, that the public enactment and promulgation of new statutes is sufficient for this purpose. That may well be so, but should we make a similar assumption when new offences, including nowadays indictable offences, are created by statutory instrument and thus remain generally unknown until somebody is prosecuted? I suggest not.

Most, if not all, of the statutory instruments in question are giving effect to European Union law. The European Communities Act 1972, enacted as Ireland was about to join the EEC, permitted the making of regulations to give full effect to Community law, but with the qualification that such regulations could not create indictable offences. However, this was amended by the European Communities Act 2007 (itself later amended by the European Union Act 2009) which permits the creation of indictable offences by way of regulation where this is considered necessary to give full effect to European Union law. The maximum fine permitted for such an offence is 500,000 Euro and the maximum term of imprisonment is three years. This amendment was deemed necessary following the Supreme Court judgments in Browne v Ireland [2003] 3 I.R. 205 and Kennedy v Attorney General [2007] 2 I.R. 45. See Dail debates (8 February 2007) on second stage of the European Communities Bill 2006. In constitutional terms, it amounted to a significant transfer of power from the legislature to the executive.

Even within the past few months, several regulations have been made creating indictable offences most of which are punishable with the permitted maximum of three years’ imprisonment. Granted, these regulations tend to deal with relatively obscure matters such as breaching restrictive measures (which usually take the form of freezing funds) adopted by the EU against countries or regimes guilty of serious human rights violations and abuses. This holds true of SI 224/2021 (relating specifically to Myanmar/Burma) and SI 235/2021. Another, SI 249/2021, amends an earlier regulation (SI 14/2011) dealing with the safety of toys but that earlier one created an indictable offence punishable with up to 500,000 Euro or two years’ imprisonment.

But with the ever-growing reach of EU law, many areas of law traditionally regarded as quintessentially matters of domestic policy are now governed, in part at least, by EU legislation. This holds true even of sex offences, so that in 2015 two new sex offences (or three depending on how you count them) were created by way of statutory instrument. This was done to give effect to EU Directive 2011/93/EU which deals with combating child sexual abuse and exploitation and child pornography. This Directive, which is far more detailed and specific than the 2004 Framework Decision it replaced, was to be transposed into the laws of member states by December 2013. We did not quite make that deadline, and we were probably not fully compliant with the Directive until the Criminal Law (Sexual Offences) Act 2017 entered into force on 27 March 2017. In the interim, and presumably as a stop gap measure, the Minister for Justice and Equality made a Regulation (SI 309/2015) that created two new offences: (1) attending a pornographic performance involving a child, and (2) engagement in sexual act by a person in authority with a child aged between 17 and 18 years. Each offence carried a maximum sentence of three years’ imprisonment. The provisions creating these offences were repealed by another instrument (SI 114 of 2107), with effect from the date on which the 2017 Act entered into force. Equivalent offences were created by that Act (ss. 13 and 18) which makes each of them punishable with a maximum of 10 years’ imprisonment.

May a person still be charged with either of the sex offences created by the 2015 Instrument if the offence is alleged to have been committed while the Instrument was in force? The answer, I suggest, is yes, because under s. 27 of the Interpretation Act 2005 an offence created by a repealed enactment may still be prosecuted and “enactment” is defined as meaning an Act or a statutory instrument. The three-year maximum penalty would apply in the event of a conviction in those circumstances.

However, Statutory Instrument 309/2015 has another important provision which, as far as I can see, remains in force. Part III provides that when sentencing a person for a sexual offence, a court shall consider whether to make an order prohibiting the offender from working with children. This provision is quite detailed and it allows, for example, for an application to be made for discharge from the prohibition. Of most interest for present purposes is that non-compliance with such an order is an offence that may be dealt with either summarily or on indictment and, in the latter event, it carries a maximum sentence of three years’ imprisonment.

This brings me to the main point of the post which is to ask if it is right or compatible with our collective notions of fundamental fairness or, for that matter, with the rule of law (however defined) to create serious offences by means of statutory instruments (of which there are hundreds in any given year) without taking any meaningful steps to bring those offences to public attention. The same question might, of course, be asked about statutes but, generally speaking, because of the elaborate parliamentary process to which draft legislation is subject before being enacted, statutes are more likely to become known, if not to the general public, at least to the legal community. The same cannot, however, be said about statutory instruments.

The maxim or principle that ignorance of the criminal law provides no defence to a criminal charge is well established, even if it is not, strictly speaking, a rule of law. As David Ormerod and Karl Laird say in Smith, Hogan and Ormerod’s Criminal Law 15th ed. (Oxford University Press, 2018), the leading English criminal law treatise, mistake or ignorance of the law applies “even where the crime is not one commonly known to be criminal. Thus, ignorance of any of the thousands of regulatory offences is no defence” (p. 338). They then mention an exception relating to statutory instruments, and this happens to apply in Ireland as well. Our Statutory Instruments Act 1947, s. 3(3) (which is closely modelled on the equivalent provision in the English Statutory Instruments Act 1946) provides that where a person is charged with an offence contravening a provision in a statutory instrument and the prosecution does not prove that, on the date of the contravention, notice of the making of the instrument had been published in Iris Oifigiuil, the charge shall be dismissed, “unless the prosecutor satisfies the court that at the said date reasonable steps had been taken for the purpose of bringing the purport of the said instrument to the notice of the public or of persons likely to be affected by it or of the defendant.”

Yet, one must ask if publication in Iris Oifigiuil is sufficient. The Iris doesn’t exactly have a wide circulation, and down through the years millions of citizens have lived happily without ever having heard of it. At present, in fact, it is published in electronic form only. Fans of P.G. Wodehouse will recall that Jeeves (Bertie Wooster’s ever-correct, polymath valet) used to say that he liked to read a few pages of an improving book every night before bedtime. Yet, I doubt if even Jeeves regularly cast an eye over Iris Oifigiuil before turning in for the night.

Professor Andrew Ashworth has seriously challenged our ready acceptance of the principle that ignorance of the criminal law is no excuse. See his article “Ignorance of the Criminal Law, and Duties to Avoid It” (2011) 74 Modern Law Review 1 and reprinted in his book, Positive Obligations in Criminal Law (Oxford: Hart, 2013). I cannot do justice here to the powerful critique he offers, but would urge readers to study it. As he notes, the principle is by no means universally applied. He mentions, for example, S v De Blom (1977) 3 SA 513 where a South African appeal court held that the defendant’s ignorance of a law prohibiting her from taking jewellery out of the country negated her mens rea for the offence. He recommends, first, that there should be a defence of excusable ignorance of the criminal law, but this should be based on an objective standard – what could reasonably be expected of an individual in the defendant’s position. He also makes a strong argument for greater efforts on the part of governments to bring legislation creating new offences, including so-called regulatory offences, to public attention. As he says, this is particularly important where offences are so defined as to be capable of commission by omission, an increasingly common feature of regulatory legislation. He further draws attention to the particular problems encountered by children in becoming aware of the criminal law, especially in jurisdictions like England and Wales (and Ireland) with a low age of criminal responsibility.

Granted, there are strong prudential grounds for adhering to the general maxim that ignorance of the criminal law is no excuse and, for that reason, courts are most unlikely to abolish it, although they should be prepared to consider carving out some limited exceptions to it. But, as a quid pro quo for retaining the principle, governments should be obliged to take effective steps to bring newly created criminal offences to public attention. That obligation should be even more compelling when offences are created by statutory instrument. As to how this might be done, some inspiration can be had from the wording of s. 3(3) of the Statutory Instruments Act 1947 which, as already noted, refers to steps being taken to bring an offence “to the notice of the public or of persons likely to be affected by it” (unless published in Iris Oifigiuil). My point is that publication in Iris Oifigiuil is simply not enough, and never has been. At a minimum there should be a government press release announcing the creation of the new offence and describing its ingredients in plain terms. The mainstream and social media would hopefully take note, especially if the new offence was in any way topical. Press releases on new criminal law statutes and bills are often issued by the Department of Justice and Equality, but I have yet to see any on statutory instruments.

Treating ignorance of the law as a mitigating factor at sentencing is a less contentious proposition and it is probably an accepted principle, even as matters stand. After all, ignorance of the law may reduce a person’s moral blameworthiness or culpability. The overarching principle of sentencing in Ireland is that a sentence must be proportionate to the gravity of the offence and the personal circumstances of the offender. Gravity is assessed by reference to the harm caused or risked and the offender’s culpability. The essential question will generally be whether it was reasonable or understandable for the offender to have been unaware of the law that he or she contravened. If it was, some mitigation may be granted. However, by way of qualification, I suggest that a court is also entitled, in an appropriate case, to take account of the inherent moral gravity or reprehensible nature of the offending conduct. For instance, many persons prosecuted for the offence of coercive control contrary to s. 39 of the Domestic Violence Act 2018 (which entered into effect on 1 January 2019) will probably be unaware that their conduct fell within the definition of that offence. Yet, if their abusive conduct was sufficiently egregious, they were never morally entitled to presume that it was legally permitted. In other circumstances, however, where an offender was genuinely and reasonably unaware of the criminality of his or her conduct, and thereby less culpable, mitigation may be warranted. The kind of offence involved in De Blom, the South African case mentioned earlier, would be a good example of that.