The Times March 02, 2006
In good faith? A bad excuse
Camilla Cavendish
Twelve days after the Roy Meadow case, the essential nature of
the judgment is still becoming clear
SINCE THE High Court overruled the General Medical Council and
reinstated Professor Sir Roy Meadow it has been 12 days and counting.
Yet the implications have not yet been fully understood. You can
get away with being wrong, the judgment seems to say, as long
as you were wrong in good faith. You should not be disciplined
by your professional body, even if that body deems that you have
broken its rules. Pull up the drawbridge.
The GMC drew a different distinction when it found Sir Roy guilty
of serious professional misconduct. It agreed that Meadow had
not intended to mislead. But it judged that his conduct in plucking
a grossly misleading statistic from a study (that there was a
73 million to 1 chance of suffering two sudden infant deaths,
as Sally Clark did), while withholding the conclusion of that
study (that one cot death makes another more likely) was incompatible
with what the public expects from a medical practitioner. Many
of us would agree. We would concur with the judges in the Clark
appeal who “rather suspect that with the graphic reference
by Professor Meadow to the chances of backing long-odds winners
of the Grand National year after year, this (evidence) may have
had a major effect on (the jurors’) thinking”. Quite.
As the Royal Society of Statisticians pointed out rather huffily
at the time, a simple telephone call to its office would have
exposed the faulty logic. But the call never came. The lawyers
never cross-examined Professor Meadow on that statistic. So he
was not the only one to make a mistake. There is genuine concern
that paediatricians have been discouraged from giving expert opinions
by the prospect of being singled out for disciplinary action.
But any expert giving an opinion that could lead to wrongful conviction
must surely let that opinion be tested.
To what extent should good intentions exonerate harmful actions?
Who should judge where good faith ends and perjury begins? “Good
faith” was not a defence that cut much ice with those who
this week suspended the four probation officers who let Damien
Hanson slip through the system to murder John Monckton. Harry
Fletcher, the assistant general secretary of the National Association
of Probation Officers, said on Tuesday that “it is absolutely
essential that corporate responsibility is accepted”. If
only things were so clear-cut in the world of child protection.
The recent blurring of the lines over Professor Meadow have weakened
accountability but not abolished it. Angela Cannings and Sally
Clark would still have their convictions quashed. But there are
many other parents professing their innocence who have never ascended
to High Court niceties. They are still stuck beneath the glass
ceiling of the Family Division. It is a one-way glass: they can
see out, but no one else can see in. To whom do they turn?
I was talking recently to a mother who was accused of satanic
abuse as part of the Western Isles case two years ago —
long after the whole notion had been denounced as a myth by a
government inquiry. Her husband was charged with offences against
children he had not seen for many years. He was not allowed to
see his own children for a year, even to telephone them for months,
and was told that if he returned home the children would be taken
away. This woman has evidence that the social worker involved
spent several years trying to trump up charges, all of which were
proved false. But her complaints are still doing the rounds of
agencies in Scotland, while the social worker continues to work
and organisations purporting to support satanic abuse “survivors”
receive government grants.
This is a familiar story. In England parents who complain find
that the ball always seems to bounce back to the social services
department they are complaining about. Each seems to have a different
internal procedure. Some minor complaints are sometimes upheld
and filed away in personnel files; others can inspire quite aggressive
reactions. William Bache, a solicitor who acts for many parents
accused of child abuse, believes that too many child abuse allegations
are made after parents have complained about a service. “And
with hospitals, one is left with the uneasy feeling that some
accusations are made to pre-empt an allegation of negligence.”
This is another dimension: doctors can put social workers under
pressure to make snap decisions on cases they do not fully understand
if a child comes in with head injuries or breathing difficulties.
The great conundrum about the world of child protection is that
so many people seem desperate to cover their backs, when so few
ever face any sanction for making mistakes. It is hard to find
an equivalent to the suspension of those four probation officers.
After the Clark ruling, the Government announced a review of
28,866 Family Division cases where children had been removed from
their parents following accusations of harm. The review took less
than nine months: the local authorities that were asked to review
their cases responded rapidly. Fewer than 20 cases were reopened
— resulting in another hard-to-believe statistical ratio.
Did this really prove that the system works? Or that those bodies
knew that they would lose their insurance if they admitted liability?
The system is in turmoil. The restructuring of Cafcass (the Children
and Family Court Advisory and Support Service) has led to waves
of experienced practitioners leaving. Some have become self-employed
and are trying to instil commonsense from the outside. Many of
those that remain are desperately inexperienced. The Victoria
Climbié tragedy has struck fear into every heart.
One of the most telling glimpses in Lord Laming’s Climbié
report was the excuse of one of the doctors who saw the girl several
times but failed to notice the horrific signs of abuse that eventually
killed her. She was “working very hard chasing bits of information
about three potential cases of Munchausen’s”. No doubt
that doctor was acting in good faith to prove Sir Roy Meadow’s
pet theory. But is good faith enough?