What Vincent Hanna (not that Vincent Hanna) taught us about capital punishment. (And why it could undermine our jury system).

David Allen Green, Charon QC, Tim Worstall, Sam Butler and Jerry Hayes have already done a fine job dismantling Paul Staines's arguments for restoring capital punishment (and pointing out the dissonance of hearing such a vociferous campaign in favour from a leading libertarian).

I'll simply and humbly offer one further argument here, courtesy of Al Pacino, playing Lieutenant Vincent Hanna in Heat.

The 1995 film's plot pitches his team of detectives against Bobby (he lets me call him Bobby) De Niro's team of armed robbers. In an early scene, one of De Niro's new recruits goes freelance and unnecessarily shoots the guard of an armoured truck they're knocking over. Within seconds, the second guard and the driver are killed, too.

Hanna arrives on the scene with one of his 'tecs:

HEINZ

You recognize their MO?

HANNA

Yeah. Their MO is that they are good. Once it escalated into a Murder One beef for all of them after they killed the first two, they popped guard number three 'cause it didn't make any difference anymore, so why leave a living witness? Drop of a hat? They'll rock and roll.

OK. So it's the movies and it's LA and it's squibs and blanks. Of course, the reality of murder is no less abhorrent but far less cinematic than that. But the macabre game theoretic strategy applied by De Niro and his crew was the right one given the options made available to them and the options they understood would be available to the other "players" in the criminal justice system.

So in a hypothetical circumstance where a victim has already been killed and others are still endangered, could capital punishment be not a deterrent, but potentially an incentive to commit further murders?

I'm happy to accept that such a scenario is so unlikely in reality as to be irrelevant in the formulation of justice policy - and that it is hardly ideal to base such policy on a Michael Mann screenplay.

But wildy extrapolating as I am from the imagination of the creator of Miami Vice, it does highlight how the noose/chair/needle does not really result in the outcomes that its proponents wish.

A better example is the suggestion that in a judicial system based on securing an argument beyond reasonable doubt, jurors are less likely to convict when they might be responsible for the imposition of the death penalty. Perhaps only incrementally so but enough to change the dynamic of our courtrooms.

In the US, the recognition of this has ended up undermining the very concept of trial by jury of one's peers. Thanks to the "death qualification" potential jurors are excluded from hearing capital cases if they are personally opposed to the death penalty:

"Today, in some California trials, that means nearly 40% of prospective jurors are excluded simply because of their qualms about the death penalty...the result of the process is a jury less inclined towards justice and more inclined towards conviction, no matter what the evidence shows."

Usually, Guido Fawkes and his supporters are (rightly) the first to rail against the Law of Unintended Consequences, and the ignoring of human nature, when ideological policies trump common sense and evidence. It is odd, to say the least, that this is not the case when dealing with the most important power the State can wield.

A random thought on the Olympics.

Why isn't wheelchair racing in the Olympics? The actual Olympic Games. Why does it only take place under the auspices of the Paralympics?

If "foot cycling" is in the Olympics, why not hand cycling? If propelling yourself around a track or along a road by transferring power from your legs to wheels is one of the 39 disciplines, why isn't doing similar with your arms?

Spot the difference.

Look at it this way: if a world-class cyclist were to lose, say, a lower arm, but, with a prothesis, could still operate the handlebars, would they nonetheless have to start competing as a Paralympian? And if so, then why?

The Laurie Penny Drinking Game

Younger readers may find this hard to believe but, not so long ago, the New Statesman was a source of serious news and commentary, widely read and admired; and interesting and brave in what it published. Two years off its centenary, it is barely recognisable from the magazine which, 13 years ago this week, and in the face of a wider media frenzy over an appalling child murder, made the right call on an innocent man (scroll to bottom of page).

Traditional news media have suffered depleted advertising revenues and leaky digital versions. The responses have varied. The Daily Mail gave up all pretence of being a newspaper a long time ago. The Times is now best known for its paywall. The Independent has had some (ahem) innovative journalistic practices. Similarly, certain tabloids. The Guardian is now defined by its Comment Is Free platform. 

Many outlets have turned to multi-contributor blogging as a means of driving traffic to their sites and recouping some of that lost advertising cash. The Spectator's success in this regard has not been without its problems but you can understand the New Statesman's attempts to emulate it over the last 14 months or so.

There are some impressively knowledgeable, genuinely witty and refreshingly insightful bloggers such as Dan Hodges, David Allen Green, Steven Baxter and Olly Grender. 

There's also Laurie Penny. Who writes beautifully. Do feel free to make your own judgment on whether such beautiful writing is employed in the service of good or bad ideas. But whatever your overall view of a journalist's skills and opinions, there should surely be times, in the face of rushed or lazy submissions, when an editor intervenes and helpfully suggests that one of his or her writers simply abandons a piece or re-writes it. At the very least, they could refuse to publish it in the hard copy version of their organ. Jason Cowley is apparently not such an editor. Which appears to be how something like "The Question Time drinking game" gets to not only sully our screens but our newstands, too.

Let's start with the sub-heading.

"A new drinking game based on the ubiquitous programme..." 

"New"? "Based on"? OK. This may have been the first time that such a bingo-type drinking format has been applied to Question Time but it's hardly an innovation. Games like this have been fixtures of TV-watching and spectator sports for years. Penny's "it happened like this" revelatory tone makes her sound like an aged judge reeling at the explanation of a hitherto unknown element of popular culture.

And while we're here: "ubiquitous" means existing or being everywhere at the same time. Question Time is on for an hour a week for a few months of the year.

"...gives much away about the robustness of political debate in Westimster (sic)."

Yes. If only debate in Westminster or on current affairs programmes could be as robust as the polemics of Brighton's finest. So just to test this out, I proudly present The Laurie Penny Drinking Game:

1. Point browser to Penny's blogposts at the New Statesman website.

2. Pick one of the many fine posts.

3. Open a bottle of perfectably drinkable wine/whisky/beer. Preferably purchased from that lovely new Tesco in Stokes Croft.

4. Click on the grid below to drink as directed:

Loose Red would like to remind you to read the New Statesman in moderation.

My contribution to Pragmatic Radicalism

The whirl of ideas and activity that is the great John Slinger will be launching Pragmatic Radicalism alongside Lord Wood and Luciana Berger MP tomorrow night.

My contribution to the pamphlet looks at how "in a globalised, highly-networked world, crises are becoming more everyday and more impactful." And why

"reacting to, and exploiting and exploring, such vulnerabilities requires a greater understanding and embedding of resilience. The second half of the equation – exploitation and exploration – is too often forgotten. As a policy theme, resilience should not simply be about bounce-back from a crisis to the status quo ante. It is about recovery being superceded by transformation and renewal; innovating and thriving on change."

 Read and comment on the full version here.

Life after death: the kindness and wit of David Cairns.

Before I became a dedicated Walthamstower last year, David Cairns, and his partner Dermot, lived in the same ward as me in Islington South. I'd known Dermot since student politics days, and was getting to know David when I was given the fantastic opportunity of going to work alongside him at Labour Friends of Israel. He was LFI's convenor and soon to be Chair. His first stint in the role.

David Cairns MP, 1966-2011

David was determined to break new ground in the debate over Israel/Palestine, washing away any hint of rose tintedness applied to either side, and railing against the lazy thinking and weak assumptions that characterised so much analysis of the conflict. His speech in March this year on the progressive case for Israel (delivered by John Woodcock MP, as David's illness had already struck) was but one example of his principles, eloquence and knowledge. He had understood, on a pilgrimage to the Galilee some years before, about the importance of coming and seeing the region for oneself. He was dedicated to persuading others of such and I was greatly privileged to organise a delegation he led to Israel and the West Bank in September 2004.

He changed British politics, too. His biggest contribution coming arguably before he even entered Parliament. It is extraordinary to think that at the turn of the 21st century, former Catholic priests were still banned from becoming MPs, under early 19th century laws. David had served as a priest for three years from 1991-94 and so the "House of Commons (Removal of Clergy Disqualification) Act 2001" was required to allow him to stand in that year's General Election.

In May 2005, he had just picked up the phone to me when I heard his mobile go and he abruptly hung up, explaining that it was Downing Street. A few minutes later he called back, the delight and thrill flooding down the line as he told me he had been appointed as a junior minister in the Scotland Office. He still wanted to know what I'd been calling about and I asked him about some minor point of LFI business. He responded simply "sod that!" and reminded me again of his news. We were gutted to be losing him as our Chair but delighted that such a talent would finally be playing a direct role in government.

By 2007, he was Minister of State, and had Northern Ireland added to his portfolio. But, under Gordon Brown, his time with the red boxes ended during a particular turbulent period of briefings and back-biting. He resigned in September 2008, believing that a serious debate over leadership could no longer be avoided.

A few days later, he was kind enough to attend some unusually tedious corporate event I'd helped organise in the Jubilee Room. He seemed melancholy but at ease, indulging some gallows humour by describing this new phase in his career as "life after death".

Prior to a hospital visit a few weeks ago, I'd last seen him just before Christmas, with Dermot and some mutual friends. A Friday night in Marylebone with odd-coloured drinks, a genuine cockney knees-up, and David regaling us of his tales and impressions of the casts of Doctor Who and Upstairs, Downstairs, whom he had been to meet that day at BBC Cardiff. As funny and articulate and enthusiastic as ever. That Great Constituency In The Sky has got one hell of a new representative.