On the limits of complicity

A problem that arises in discussions of complicity is the liability of the position of a person who supplies goods or tools to another in the knowledge, or with the expectation that they will use them to commit a crime. Traditionally this has been discussed  in terms of a hypothetical situation such as the shopkeeper who sells a knife or poison to a person that they know or strongly suspect is going to use the item to murder someone.

And less criminal law?

The normal way of addressing questions such as this is to try and use the conceptual tools of the criminal law. Thus it would normally proceed by asking whether, in the event of the murder taking place, the shopkeeper could be said to have caused the death in some way (i.e. is there a causal link). For many commentators this would be enough, as it would be argued that the action of killing was too remote from the sale, or that the actions of the buyer/murderer as an autonomous agent broke the causal chain. In case this was not enough, we might then ask about the degree of knowledge or the mental state of the seller: did they know about the intent of the buyer or did they foresee the outcome as possible, likely or probable? And in most systems the rule seems to be that there should be some degree of intent (i.e. that the seller should intend the outcome) and that merely being reckless as to the outcome would not be enough to give rise to criminal liability. And why? This is because those who are pursuing an ordinary course of business should not be brought within the scope of the criminal law.

All this seems fine in the hypothetical case, but these kind of cases are not merely hypothetical, as there are an increasing number of situations which pose this kind of problem. This might be the question where a pharmacist provides drugs to be used in the suicide of another person. It has arisen in cases where a a supplier of illegal drugs drugs has been charged with the homicide of a persons who have consumed them and died (not because of an impurity in the drug, but simply where the victim has suffered an adverse reaction. And on a bigger scale it has arisen in the case of the supplier of chemicals that were used in the gas chambers of Auschwitz. And it arises in the case of the arms dealer who sells guns or weapons that are likely to be used to prosecute massacres or illegal wars.

Now each of these cases raises slightly different issues, and have been dealt with differently by national and international courts, but what they share in common is the question of the limits of complicity. This, however, should not be seen wholly in terms of criminal law concepts, but was is clear from the hypothetical example given above is that these concepts are supplemented in practice by an understanding of the normal operation of business or the market. That is to say, the considerations of knowledge or foresight are limited in a commercial context by the understanding that there is a kind of 'veil of ignorance' imposed over these sorts of transaction: a seller is under no duty to inquire how the arms or chemicals are likely to be used. This seems disingenuous at best to me (and others) - as at least some of these kinds of transactions (chemicals, arms) seem far from normal. I would have no difficulty in suggesting that there is some form of complicity  in this situation - and that if the criminal law does not recognize this then the problem lies with the law rather than our understanding of complicity, as some have argued.

However, important as this kind of argument is, I think that a really interesting and neglected issue here is the question of how this distinction between law and the market arises and operates. At what point does this kind of market blindness become a limit to the criminal law? And how is the understanding of 'normal' business practice constructed?

On Mary Reid or Timney

Mary Reid (or Timney) was the last woman to be publicly executed in Scotland. She was hung in Dumfries on the 29th April 1862 after being convicted of murder. The story of the execution seems particularly horrific.

On 13th January 1862 the body of Ann Hannah was found in her home outside of Kircudbright. She had been stabbed and beaten. Her nearest neighbour, Mary Reid, initially denied having heard anything of the incident, but a search of her house led to the discovery of a bundle of bloodstained clothes hidden in her loft, and a wooden mallet with traces of hair and blood. And in a cruel twist, the Mary Reid's own children stated that these were the clothes that she had been wearing that morning. She was tried before Lord Deas and found guilty and sentenced to death.

The execution took place Dumfries in front of the Buccleugh Street prison before a crown estimated to be about 3,000 people (though it is common for these numbers to be inflated in the contemporary accounts). She had petitioned the Home Secretary for mercy, in part because she was the mother of four young children, and after the noose had been placed around her neck there was apparently a cry from the crown that a reprieve was coming. A man ran to the scaffold and delivered a piece of paper, which was read by the prison governor. After a few moments, during which time the prisoner was left on the scaffold, hooded and with the noose around her neck, he announced that it was merely a letter from a London newspaper asking for an account of the hanging to be sent. At which point, before the crowd could become restless, the executioner, William Calcraft, released the trapdoor.

It is hard not be struck by the callousness of this case, and it is perhaps not surprising that cases of this sort led to the ending of public executions in 1868. Historians have shown that the taste for public spectacles of this sort was in decline - at least among the opinion forming middle classes - and perhaps just as importantly the authorities were aware that these kind of large gatherings carried enormous potential for unrest and were not quite the public display of justice they might once have been. In fact the use of capital punishment was in decline throughout the nineteenth century. Although it was formally available as a punishment for a range of crimes in Scotland until 1887, and the passing of the Criminal Procedure Act of that year, it was in practice almost exclusively reserved for murder from the 1830s on, and the 1887 Act was merely confirming the existing practice. And though Scotland had, for a long time, prided itself on the leniency and humanity of its criminal justice system (at least compared to England), reading accounts like this suggests that understanding of what was humane may be relative.

[I am very grateful to Jayne Baldwin, who is working on a book about this case, for bringing this to my attention]

On Correct

Regular readers, if there is such a person, will recall that I have posted in the past about the blog 'Punishing Photography' and the exhibition 'The Gallows' that came out of that project. I am now pleased to say that a public exhibition of the photos has just opened in Glasgow. Called 'Correct', you can see it at the Briggait until 22nd March. Full details here: http://www.waspsstudios.org.uk/news-events/correct-exhibition-jenny-wicks