John Lilburne on the pillory at Westminster, 1638 (1905). Lilburne (1614-1657) was an English Leveller who campaigned for what he described as `freeborn rights` which every human being was born with. From Cassell's History of England, Vol. II, (Cassell and Company, Limited, London, Paris, New York & Melbourne, 1905). (Photo by Print Collector/Getty Images)

It’s been clear for months that Covid has shifted our political perspectives. But who, honestly, could have guessed 12 months ago that among the pandemic’s various casualties would be that foremost expression of political liberties, Magna Carta? It wasn’t very long ago that the Left regarded it as totemic. Yet today, it is increasingly seen as almost Trumpian, a piece of populist authority-denying rhetoric.
Clearly, something very odd has happened. Consider, for instance, the events of the last week. On Good Friday, the Christian community reflects on Jesus being taken before the Roman Authorities, charged with setting himself up as an alternative king. This year, the Polish Roman Catholic Church of Christ the King in Balham had the ingenious idea of incorporating a real police raid into the liturgy. The police broke up the gathering of Christian worshippers, rather effectively making the point that even in the most apparently benign of political circumstances, Christians derive their authority not from the law of the land but from a king who is not of this world.
Unfortunately, of course, it wasn’t a creative piece of liturgy. Someone had phoned the police to complain. We do not know if his name was Judas. But breakup the service they did. “This is an unlawful gathering,” announced the boys and girls in blue, threatening to fine those gathered in prayer. Despite the fact that — as images of the service clearly showed — most of the congregation were social distancing, wearing masks and had pre-booked their attendance, the police closed down the service on one of the holiest days of the year.
It was clearly not close to being a proportionate response. And the church was right to be furious. The right freely to worship is an ancient freedom that ought never to be messed with so casually. And so, for the first time in my life, I phoned a lawyer in advance of opening up for the Easter weekend. “It is guidance”, she explained, “not law”. As long as I had done a risk assessment, I would be covered. (It’s worth noting, of course, that the Polish church had done precisely that — but it didn’t stop the police.)
I also posted the first section of Magna Carta on a pane of glass on the front of my church door the evening before our Easter service. We are only a few miles from Balham, and we all wondered if the police would be breaking up more church services. The first clause of Magna Carta reads thus:
“First, that we have granted to God, and by this present charter have confirmed for us and our heirs in perpetuity, that the English Church shall be free, and shall have its rights undiminished, and its liberties unimpaired. That we wish this so to be observed.”
As it would happen, the police didn’t show up to complain. Instead, and far more peculiarly, the only hostility I experienced happened after I shared an image of the poster on Twitter. “Magna Carta is only quoted by ignorant ideologues,” was one of the more polite responses.
What particularly surprised me, though, was that the pile-on wasn’t confined to the usual vulgar suspects. In fact, a number of the critical comments were from medievalist historians, pointing out — often in quite a superior tone — how the foundational text no longer applies; that it was rescinded by the Pope just a few weeks after it was published. And then there were the lawyers, informing me that the text has no legal force. “Bless,” replied one prominent lawyer and blogger, patting me on the head, patronisingly.
Now I must say that, when I stuck the poster to my church’s window, I wasn’t aware quite how contentious a subject Magna Carta has become. Since lockdown, some business owners, including a Bradford hairdresser, have been posting clause 61 on their shop windows to warn off the police; others then accused them of populist numskullery.
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