England Elevates Unfreedom to Doctrine, and Proves My Life Holds No Legal Value
When legal doctrine becomes ritual and science becomes its shield, governance devolves into unaccountability. England claims descent from common law but has renounced its foundation.
For two years, I have been battling an infection and have not been offered any meaningful medical care — neither from the NHS nor privately. Doctors dismiss me not based on evidence, but on the nature of my concern. My question: Could it be a parasite? Medicine today has a structural bias. Medical literature describes how others raising similar concerns are also dismissed, and this pattern disproportionately affects a specific group of patients such as the elderly — particularly elderly women — as well as disabled and economically marginalised women. This bias is rarely questioned.
The pain I suffer, and the gradual destruction of my body, is beyond imagination. I can only assume that their experiences are not unlike mine. This thought is both inconsolable and sustaining: it gives me a reason to keep going. Simply, I hope to find healing not only for myself, but also to help those who are denied it and can’t help themselves.
Securing a cure for myself remains a work in progress. I admit that. Success is not guaranteed, of course. However, I do think the universe could not have found anyone more qualified than me — reasoning my way through medicine, quantum physics, philosophy, and digital technology all at once, and theorising breakthrough ideas in each of these domains in the process — just to find the answer. Stuff like this:
It has become a duty for me to fix this, and it will remain so until everything that is required from me is done. I do not know the individuals described in medical journals, or whether they want or need my help. They get it anyway. Because I need to believe that something still has meaning, even as meaning collapses around me.
I also seek justice.
A doctor looks at my skin and says “I can’t see it” in response to my statement that there seems to be a biofilm involved. The doctor did not use UV light or something enabling him to see what we typically cannot perceive in normal daylight. Doctor says "pahh whatever” and sends me home. All doctors I consulted enact something similar: they don’t know, they don’t investigate and they stigmatise me in offensive ways in order to justify that they don’t need to care about what’s happening to me. That is UK healthcare. It is institutionalised negligence.
In the meantime, I have been running my own system of detection and testing under stress, and I have evidence showing a complex organism exhibiting coherent structural repetition — symmetry, binding, node-link dynamics. Institutional diagnostic models are not equipped for what I am describing. I have been told this directly.
No doctor would listen to me for more than 10 seconds before saying, “Pahh, whatever.”
The organism I am documenting behaves in a way that perhaps breaches conventional pathogen categories. So what? I found a new one. Discoveries of new pathogens are not unprecedented, and the recurrence of such events should not surprise us.
I am being denied medical care, and I cannot do anything to change this. Complaints up to the highest level — including the Parliamentary Ombudsman — always lead to the same outcome: the complaints process does not interfere with the medical judgment of doctors as if ignorance qualifies for due care and skill.
I can’t seek legal remedies because medical law in England operates under a doctrine called the Bolam test (from Bolam v Friern Hospital Management Committee [1957]), which says:
A doctor is not negligent if their conduct aligns with a responsible body of medical opinion, even if others would disagree.
In simple terms, my claim — that denying me care due either due to careless behaviour by a doctor or to structural misdiagnosis is negligent — requires me to prove that my doctor acted in a way that most other doctors would not. It does not matter whether the conduct was good or bad. If enough doctors do the same thing, even if it's wrong, it becomes legally protected.
That’s why 15 doctors can all be wrong in the same way, and none of them are legally liable for the resulting avoidable suffering, disfigurement, loss of income, or disruption of my personal and professional life.
This means the law treats me unfairly by ignoring my claim. A violated right without a remedy afforded by law is incompatible with the principles of common law. But here I am — in exactly this situation.
I cannot ask a court to review the medical system’s decision to withhold care based on a faulty diagnosis, because UK courts refuse to review medical decisions. My lawyers cannot plead on my behalf, as it would be deemed interference in medical judgment. I cannot prove that the diagnosis is false using scientific evidence — only through social studies or speculation about what an average doctor might say in such a case.
But the court never asks what would be necessary to protect a human life - my life.
The UK has a pre-Brexit Human Rights Act that claims to protect the right to life. This implies the government must take appropriate measures to safeguard life — including, in some circumstances, steps to protect me if my life is at risk, which I claim it is. The Act also requires that all rights be applied without discrimination. That’s the theory.
But I must seek remedy in an English court by arguing that the court itself — by applying the Bolam test — is causing a human rights violation. Yet I can only make that argument theoretically. I can’t file papers and have them rejected under Bolam, because my lawyers cannot knowingly submit inadmissible claims. I cannot even establish that medical care has been withheld with gross negligence.
English courts don’t ask if a diagnosis is valid — only if the doctor followed the guidelines. If there is no diagnosis at all, and merely refusal to investigate, then it’s considered outside medical law. The GMC code does not permit neglect, but the legal system only tests conformity to behaviour, not substance. The written guidelines do not prescribe mandatory actions — they only define the doctor as the judge of their own limits. They are NICE approved yet often unscientific mechanisms to deflect accountability.
Doctors always know that following vague guidelines is legally safe. Doing nothing is also legally safe. But deviating from guidelines — even when medically necessary — carries legal risk. This creates a structural incentive to choose the path of least resistance: to do something quick and easy, or nothing at all. That is not medical care. It is legally sanctioned abandonment. It renders the patient invisible by design. And doing so is incompatible with any system that claims to value human life.
And English common law fails as a judiciary system if it denies me a remedy against this entire situation.
OK, I thought — surely somebody should agree that this might be a bit problematic.
However, this presupposes evidence that I was indeed misdiagnosed. Let’s assume this proof exists and is accepted as valid: have I thereby proven that my situation raises concerns about the Bolam test’s compatibility with common law principles?
No, I have not.
Because the counterargument will be: the risk of misdiagnosis cannot be eliminated as such, and what I experienced must be treated as specific to my case. The negligence would therefore not necessarily constitute a breach of my human rights. That’s my assumption of course.
This is the reason for my article’s title: Why My Life Holds No Legal Value in England.
The legal structure precludes the possibility that my suffering alone could qualify as a breach of human rights. This means I do not enjoy human rights at all while I live in the UK. The legal framework governing medicine and judicial review designates my life as having inferior legal and medical value.
I may hold a British passport, but I am not treated as a citizen.
This is not an opinion. It is the logical consequence of how the UK’s legal and institutional regimes interact.
My argument here is in fact not contingent on the truth of my claims concerning the specific medical diagnosis. It is structural injustice.
A legal standard that delegates judicial authority to scientific consensus is unlawful because science and law are ontologically distinct and epistemically non-substitutable domains. Law does not determine what is scientifically true, but it is the only domain with authority to determine whether action based on scientific claims is lawful. Any doctrine that allows scientific or medical consensus to override legal scrutiny makes law subordinate to external authority. That is unlawful by definition, because it abdicates the normative role of law — its reason for existing. Scientific truth may be provisional. Legal justification must be final. If action is taken, only law can say whether that action was permissible. Not doctors. Worse, the doctors aren't even aware of the consequences. If I am able to get a second opinion, they assume there are sufficient controls — that someone else would surely see the error in a doctor’s assumption. But the second doctor assumes the same about somebody else. And there is nothing at the end of this chain. It is organised unaccountability.
When consensus in gatekeeping access to health care becomes the only standard by which law evaluates human rights or civil liberties, it delegates the legal recognition of individual rights to non-normative actors. This means:
The value of life becomes contingent on institutional consensus, not on the inherent rights of the individual.
Indifference replaces obligation.
Structural power replaces judicial review.
This has created a double jeopardy for me in the following sense:
I am denied protection of law because my case is not acknowledged as valid by consensus.
I am also denied legal remedy because law defers to that consensus assuming it is instantly updating itself with all relevant factors known, always free from bias etc.
My claim is disbelieved and at the legal level my claim is unreviewable. I am made unrecognizable to both law and medicine and therefore abandoned by both. It is legal nonexistence. And it violates scientific principles — since consensus is never absolute truth — just as much as it constitutes a gross violation of the rule of law pretending otherwise to sanction this regime. Besides, simply ignoring me is not informed by science anyway.
And please, I am not saying that all claims questioning scientific consensus are equally valid. Of course they are not — and treating them as such would render any form of society dysfunctional.
But there is a space between doing nothing and doing everything — and the law must be capable of discerning where that space lies when questions of human life are at stake.
Right now it defaults to nothing.
There is something called the UN Universal Periodic Review (UPR):
“providing a peer-review of the human rights records of UN Member States, coordinated by the UN’s Human Rights Council. The UPR process takes place over five-year cycles.”
This is a semantically confusing statement.
“Peer” in this legal-political context derives from the Latin phrase par in parem non habet imperium — “an equal has no authority over an equal.” This underpins the principle of sovereign equality. The phrase inter pares (“among equals”) describes precisely this horizontal relationship, especially in diplomatic and international legal contexts.
A review inter pares — a mutual review among formal equals — is structurally incapable of producing binding accountability. No finding can compel the state under review, and no “peer” can objectively adjudicate an equal. In a system of sovereign equals, no state has standing to critique another in a way that binds. The very notion of critique implies a normative asymmetry.
Is it surprising, then, that the former Conservative British government responded to nearly all such recommendations when the UK was reviewed in 2023 like this:
Recommendation (from Cyprus and Estonia):
Ratify the Optional Protocol to the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR).
UK Response: “Noted.” (Effectively: ‘pahh, whatever.’)
“The UK Government believes that effective domestic laws already exist in the UK under which individuals may seek enforceable remedies in the courts if their rights have been breached. The UK is also subject to the jurisdiction of the European Court of Human Rights. The UK therefore does not see the value in accepting this further individual communication mechanism.”
And yet, my case is evidence that this belief — that enforceable remedies are available and effective — is incorrect and must be critically examined.
This UK response was made in 2023 — during a time when the government was actively exploring withdrawal from the jurisdiction of the European Court of Human Rights. Is that a credible position to take on something as foundational as human rights?
The Optional Protocol to the ICCPR would allow individuals — such as myself — to bring human rights violations before the UN Human Rights Committee. The UK government says that isn’t necessary because, supposedly, I already have access to justice domestically even when I don’t. But the UK government is sovereign even when it makes claims that are demonstratively wrong.
Thank you, UN — that really helped secure human rights protection.
I can't imagine I would face such a dire situation in Germany. Why is that? We have a supreme court, and I do believe that a similar case to mine occurring in Germany would have raised concerns about violations relevant to the constitutional order, the rule of law, and the true meaning of human dignity.
The difference sometimes gets explained like this: the UK has civil liberties, which are slightly different from human rights. As a result, we get speeches from the Home Office like this one by Security Minister The Rt Hon James Brokenshire in 2013:
“Are we striking the right balance between national security and civil liberties, between collective security on the one side and individual freedoms on the other? [...] But it is also true that there is sometimes a trade-off, and it is those occasions that tend to fuel debates over whether the pendulum has swung too far in either direction.”
This statement is based on a fundamental misunderstanding of what civil liberties are and what they mean under common law. It raises a legitimate question I think: how could someone hold ministerial office while lacking the constitutional understanding (evidenced by such a speech)?
Hear me out before thinking ‘pahh, whatever.’
The correct formulation is not 'liberty vs. security,' but rather 'liberty through security, and security for liberty.' In other words, you cannot trade liberty for something else. Both security and freedom are forms of liberty, and you cannot enjoy freedom without some degree of security. This occasionally creates tension between situationally competing objectives.
This passage from Scott J. Attorney-General v. Guardian Newspapers [1990], also known as the "Spycatcher" case, is a pivotal illustration of how British constitutional logic operates relying on judicial balancing of competing public interests that are examples of civil liberties:
“Society must pay a price both for freedom of the press and for national security. The price to be paid for an efficient and secure Security Service will be some loss in the freedom of the press to publish what it chooses. The price to be paid for free speech and a free press in a democratic society will be the loss of some degree of secrecy about the affairs of government, including the Security Service. A balance must be struck between the two competing public interests. Each side, the government on the one hand and the press on the other, is entitled to assert its view of the relative values of these particular interests and of the extent to which one must give way to the other. It is open to Parliament, if it wishes, to impose guidelines. The United States Congress has done so in the form of the First Amendment. Parliament has not. And so it is for the courts to strike the balance. [..] I repeat that, in my judgment, there is a balance to be struck and the courts must strike it [..]”
This is from a debate in Parliament about Civil Liberties and a Bill of Rights (Volume 155, debated on Monday 19 June 1989).
The Rt Hon. Lord Maclennan of Rogart (LibDem), after explaining why he believes citizens’ rights require protection via a Bill of Rights:
“In three major respects, the British people suffer constitutional disadvantage in the protection of fundamental rights and freedoms in comparison with the citizens of other democratic countries. First, within our constitution there are no institutional checks and balances such as those which flow from the separation of powers in the United States between the Executive, the legislature and the judiciary. [...]”
Shortly after, Sir Richard Shepherd (Conservative) responded:
“The hon. Gentleman will know that I am sympathetic to the drift of his remarks, but given the supremacy of Parliament, what secures the primacy of one piece of legislation over subsequent pieces of legislation?”
Supremacy? The competency of Parliament does not imply supremacy. It implies a jurisdictional boundary: its acts are lawful only insofar as they respect the frame within which they’re made. The claim of “supremacy” pretends that Parliament is law’s author. But Parliament is law’s instrument. The rule of law defines how Parliament may legislate — not just that it legislates.
When MPs invoke supremacy as if it licenses unconstrained will, they erase the entire foundation of the common law tradition — which rests on pre-existing rights, structural balance, and lawful purpose. Anyway.
Then Lord Maclennan of Rogart replied:
“Although I have not hitherto proposed that a Bill of Rights should be entrenched under our constitution—to answer the point made by the hon. Member for Aldridge-Brownhills (Mr. Shepherd)—and it is true that its provisions, even if incorporated, could be rendered null by a simple Act of Parliament [...]”
Supremacy confirmed. So, it’s more PR than substantive protection — but it seems all we have.
Mr David Martin (Conservative) added:
“The implementation of a Bill of Rights would be decided not by this place but by judges. That would fundamentally change the constitution that we know and that has grown up over many centuries.”
He is, unfortunately, no longer with us — but he, like the Rt Hon James Brokenshire mentioned earlier, fundamentally misrepresented the UK constitutional order.
At one point, Lord Maclennan of Rogart said:
“We have also seen British judges apply the general provisions of European Community law and find little difficulty in so doing. Indeed, although the European Convention has not itself been incorporated into Community law, the European Court of Justice has issued decisions in the light of it. It therefore follows that, indirectly, the European Convention is becoming a part of British law, if only in a limited economic sphere.”
If this were true that law sneaks in this way, then common law principles would have been violated ever since the UK joined the EU — and judges should have noted and prevented this. Regardless, what emerges from the debate is not just a divergence of views, but a shared illusion across parties: that constitutional stability and individual rights are adequately preserved through parliamentary sovereignty alone, without needing entrenched rights or structural protections.
This is a misreading of both legal theory and history and bypasses the key constitutional logic: rights preexist law, and
the law (as made by Parliament or interpreted by judges) gains its legitimacy only insofar as it aligns with The Law — the deeper structure of natural rights and foundational justice.
If “the law” contradicts “The Law,” then it is not lawful — even if procedurally valid.
Parliament’s competence is not without limit. It is not entitled to abolish civil liberties at will. The utilitarian legacy of Jeremy Bentham fostered the illusion that Parliament grants rights and can therefore revoke them. That claim is not just illegitimate under common law — it is logically impossible.
The shift from the common law principle that Right precedes Law to the inversion Law creates Right is an error in reasoning behind the myth of parliamentary omnipotence and supremacy.
Blackstone (1753) — whose commentaries remain foundational in English legal doctrine — made the distinction explicit. When he refers to absolute rights, he is pointing to The Law, not any contingent enactment.
“Some have thought that unjust attacks, even upon life or property, at the arbitrary will of the magistrate, are less dangerous to the commonwealth than such as are made upon the personal liberty of the subject. To bereave a man of life, or by violence to confiscate his estate, without accusation or trial, would be so gross and notorious an act of despotism, as must at once convey the alarm of tyranny throughout the whole kingdom; but confinement of the person, by secretly hurrying him to jail, where his sufferings are unknown or forgotten, is a less public, a less striking, and therefore a more dangerous engine of arbitrary government.”
— Blackstone, Commentaries on the Laws of England, Book I, Ch. 1
The same applies in the United States. The Constitution is a written instrument, but it does not invent rights. It presumes them to be pre-existing and inalienable — that presumption is the basis for the legitimacy of constitutional law.
By contrast, the British parliamentary model claims to function without a written constitution and in doing so, some MPs now treat the power to legislate as identical with the authority to define justice. This confusion of habit with principle is not a legal doctrine but a constitutional error. The parliamentary debates themselves are a case study in rhetorical consensus substituting for truth.
Nothing has changed since Blackstone wrote his Commentaries:
“The idea and practice of this political or civil liberty flourish in their highest vigour in these kingdoms, where it falls little short of perfection, and can only be lost or destroyed by the folly or demerits of its owner: the legislature, and of course the laws of England, being peculiarly adapted to the preservation of this inestimable blessing even in the meanest subject.”
Blackstone defines liberty not as a grant of Parliament but as a structural condition inherent in the subject. Its loss is not the act of the state, but a failure to preserve what already belongs. Parliament’s legitimacy depends on laws that secure — not invent — civil liberty. If its actions violate that condition, Parliament does not merely err; it betrays its own legal foundation.
Civil liberties are absolute rights. They are not in any way different to human rights. Sometimes countries have a written constitution and sometimes they don’t. That’s it.
Blackstone states explicitly that the laws of England are to be methodically organized around their object, and that object is:
"the absolute rights of individuals."
This is not a metaphor. It is a structural condition: the primary purpose of English law is to secure rights that are prior to and independent of it. Blackstone doesn't say the law creates rights. The law exists to recognize and preserve them.
So when later parliamentary logic reverses this — claiming that rights come from law or are subject tolegislative convenience — it is not merely a doctrinal shift. It nullifies the very foundation of English law as described in its most authoritative common law text.
It would be an absurd perversion to think Parliament is without limit.
It asserts that law arises from power, not from prior legitimacy and this is a constitutional falsehood. Parliament was created by law, not vice versa. Therefore: saying it is unlimited in power is a self-erasing legal theory. A legal system that claims Parliament is beyond constraint is without law.
It would make the protection of human life contingent on the consciousness or discretion of humans that are not infallible in their decision making. It would treat human life as an artefact of permissibility granted by a bureaucratic licensing regime. Such a society in which survival hinges of the what Blackstone called the meanest subject on the “consciousness” of those in power is never lawful. It is barbaric and immoral.
I live in England, but the England I live in is absent of the rule of law. It considers my life too inferior to merit legal protection.
This is not merely a personal grievance. It structurally impairs everyone’s civil liberties. Under common law principles, civil liberty is not divisible. If it is denied to one, it is compromised for all.
During Brexit, the UK courts effectively functioned as a constitutional court by examining the legality of Parliament and the Executive’s actions—despite our lack of a formal written constitution.
The pivotal case is R (Miller) v Secretary of State for Exiting the European Union (also known as Miller I, 2017). The Supreme Court held that the government could not use royal prerogative to trigger Article 50 (initiating Brexit) because such an action would remove rights established under Parliament:
Parliament was sovereign in granting these specific rights;
The Executive could not strip those rights without new legislation;
And judicial review was appropriate in defense of individual legal rights.
That was a form of constitutional protection.
The Supreme Court followed this again in Miller II/Cherry (2019) when it declared that the prorogation of Parliament by Boris Johnson — designed to limit parliamentary scrutiny of Brexit — was justiciable and unlawful, an unprecedented judicial check on Executive power. They were enforcing Parliament’s own sovereignty —a tradition embedded in common law reasoning. It was a jurisprudential moment when the judiciary carved out a constitutional role where none existed formally.
Though we have no written constitution or formal constitutional tribunal, the UK Supreme Court stepped into that role. It:
Defined the legal limits of Executive power
Enforced the principle that parliamentary rights established under Parliament via the European Communities Act 1972 cannot be unrighfully removed without Parliament
Acted as a constitutional safeguard, upholding rule-of-law principles rooted in common law tradition
They protected the balance between Executive, Legislature, and thereby citizen rights—even in the absence of a piece of paper called the constitution. The only difference between written an unwritten constitutions is that unwritten one is harder remember.
Parliament cannot agree to remove a law it grants unless Parliament is asked to do so. And the right was given to Parliament by the European Communities Act. Parliament had no power to give these rights or remove them. Parliament had the constitutional function to secure these rights as long as these rights existed, and they ceased to exist after Brexit.
That is the purpose of Parliament.
Premise (Blackstone/Common Law)
– The purpose of society is to protect absolute rights of humans
– Law exists to secure these rights through peaceful mutual structure
Function of Parliament (Founding Logic)
– Parliament is the institutional instrument for enacting that protective function
– Its legitimacy derives from this purpose — not from its ability to act freely
Miller I and II: Judicial Role Clarified
– Courts did not say “Parliament can do anything”
– They said: the Executive cannot bypass Parliament when rights are affected—rights Parliament administered but did not originate
– Parliament created rights only as delegated by the European Communities Act – This confirms that those rights are structurally prior to Parliament’s convenience
Contrapositive Logic
– If Parliament attempts to dissolve the very rights it was created to protect (freedom of people)
– Then it would cease to act within its foundational role and not conform to principles underpinning the rule of law
A Parliament that works against securing these natural rights invalidates any law to such effect Parliament thinks it has passed. To unmake that protection that gives Parliament legitimacy is to revoke its own justification and authority to pass lawful Acts.
Chief Justice John Marshall’s ruling in Marbury v. Madison (1803) forms the foundational logic for judicial review under a constitutional system such as the US. Law derives its authority only from the Constitution — which itself is the embodiment of foundational rights.
A judge must always ask: Does this law conform to the Constitution?
If not, the law is void, regardless of its source.
The Marshall Doctrine, when translated into British logic, demands that judges test each statute not against written constitutional text, but against the purpose and boundaries that define Parliament’s very legitimacy.
Coming back to the UN peer review where the British government made another misleading claim:
“The UK is also subject to the jurisdiction of the European Court of Human Rights.”
I am a subject to the UK but the UK is not subject to a foreign court.
In international law (Völkerrecht), a sovereign state cannot be legally subject to another authority in its sovereign decisions unless it voluntarily limits its sovereignty through treaty obligations and submits to enforcement mechanisms.
A more precise description would be: The UK has agreed, by treaty, to restrain the exercise of its sovereignty in certain domains, subject to international review. But it remains the sole judge of whether and how it will enforce such restraints.
This means:
The UK is not subject to the European Court of Human Rights (ECtHR) in the strict legal sense.
It has voluntarily committed to comply with ECHR judgments but retains the sovereign right to disregard them.
This renders the idea of being a subject an illusion of accountability, not a structural reality.
So when the UK says it is “subject” to the ECtHR, it speaks rhetorically, not juridically. That distinction — between voluntary restraint and enforceable subjection. This gets routinely blurred to avoid exposing the true fragility of international human rights enforcement. We may not like it but that’s how this actually works.
The ECtHR accepts individual applications directly from citizens. Thousands of people submit without legal representation — many are accepted. This means I would need to show that:
I had no access to effective remedy, because the system structurally prevented my claim from being heard.
The denial was not incidental, but systemic and reproducible.
The result was inhuman or degrading treatment (Article 3) or breach of bodily autonomy (Article 8).
Sounds not impossible but it is impossible for me.
The European Court of Human Rights (ECtHR) does not retry facts, but only reviews the application of law, so it is structurally incapable of correcting a wrongful denial of remedy if:
The national court never established the relevant facts, or
The legal doctrine (like Bolam) prevents factual evaluation entirely.
In such cases, no fact exists in law to be reviewed. The ECtHR can only assess whether the law was applied reasonably to facts already found. But if no facts were allowed to be found, the ECtHR cannot intervene meaningfully.
The UK claims to be “subject” to ECtHR jurisdiction.
But its legal doctrines (e.g., Bolam) can structurally preclude fact-finding on the very matters human rights depend on.
Therefore, the UK’s treaty obligations under the European Convention on Human Rights amount to a formalist review mechanism that:
Assumes the rationality and sufficiency of domestic legal processes, and
Fails to offer protection when those assumptions collapse under specific structural conditions.
The result is that structural human rights violations—especially those precluded from factual or judicial scrutiny domestically—remain unreviewable.
The UK's status as “subject to” the ECtHR becomes juridically hollow.
Since my critique identifies a structural incapacity within the treaty’s enforcement logic, it reveals a foundational flaw within the treaty architecture itself:
It presumes what it ought to test.
The UK signed a treaty that, under common law principles, would be considered unenforceable and coercive if it were a private contract.
It binds the weaker party (me) without any capacity to enforce, exit, or hold the stronger party (the state) accountable — all while claiming to do so for my benefit, which I dispute.
This means that, in practice, the UK government effectively faces itself in court, and I can only hope for mercy. That is the most accurate diagnostic of legal simulation under the cover of human rights.
My conclusion is this:
The UK must withdraw from the European Convention on Human Rights — not because the text itself restricts liberty,
but because the UK administrative state uses the ECHR as cover to enact what common law prohibits.
And even if that were not the case, the treaty is structurally incapable of identifying and correcting such violations.
I am not claiming interpretive supremacy. I am exposing where the logic of law collapses into institutional self-reference. That’s all.
Strasbourg done. Brussels next. Why? Because the EU constantly refers to the ECtHR when justifying their laws and I thought: would that be worth something.
The ECHR belongs to the Council of Europe (not the EU). The Treaty of Lisbon, which entered into force on 1 December 2009, amended and renamed a former treaty (TEU) as the Treaty on the Functioning of the EU (TFEU).
Article 6 TFEU (ex Article 6 TEU):
“The Union recognises the rights, freedoms and principles set out in the Charter of Fundamental Rights of the European Union [..] which shall have the same legal value as the Treaties.”
It then continues:
“The Union shall accede to the European Convention for the Protection of Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms. Such accession shall not affect the Union's competences as defined in the Treaties.”
The reference to the Charter does not result in enforceable ECHR-derived protections. The EU is not a country, nor is it a supranational state. It occupies an intermediate space — something in between. It suffers I think from a structural democracy deficit, though I would argue this is one of those necessary tensions, like the UK Attorney General described in Spycatcher: a price paid for liberty or for security. And EU is vital for that purpose: Peace.
However, the EU has no meaningful concept of “citizenship.” It is only competent in a narrow range of domains — chiefly, the facilitation of the free movement of goods, services, capital, and people within the single market. Even these competences are full of exceptions, particularly when they come into conflict with the core interests of member states (such as military affairs, health care, or public security).
As a result, the EU lacks competence in areas like medical care and the substantive enforcement of human rights. It is legally toothless in this regard. Furthermore, an individual cannot bring a human rights claim before the European Court of Justice unless their suffering was caused directly by an action or decision of an EU institution in areas the EU is competent.
Since the EU primarily enforces its rules through member states, it is structurally almost impossible to prove such direct causality. This makes decisions by EU bodies effectively immune to judicial review by individuals — a profound design flaw since we are talking about human right and not “member state rights.”
Thus, the EU construct does not meaningfully protect human rights. That task falls to national governments and their legal systems. Everything else is rhetorical.
This doesn't stop the EU from invoking human rights — e.g., in the EU AI Act’s preamble. This is before even getting to the law. You’re seeing “A Lucasfilm Production,” but the actual Star Wars movie hasn’t started yet. Here’s how the references break down:
“In accordance with Union values” — an indirect reference (via TEU Article 2).
“...fundamental rights as enshrined in the Charter…”
“...including democracy, the rule of law and environmental protection…”
“This Regulation should be applied in accordance with the values of the Union enshrined in the Charter…”
A restatement of the same obligation — a redundancy emphasizing the previous point.
A third repetition of applying the Charter, reinforcing the link again.
Explicit citing of Article 16 TFEU — which deals with data protection, a Charter-derived fundamental right.
Further reference to “fundamental rights that are protected by Union law.”
Beyond the preamble, the Act:
Mentions “New Legislative Framework” (9),
Includes multiple detailed sections stating it "should not affect the exercise of fundamental rights" in Member States,
And again references the Charter in Chapter 6 concerning rights-related safeguards.
Total approximate count: nine explicit recurrences of “fundamental rights” or Charter invocation, plus several statements I would consider a rhetorical retraction from the prior statements of the same.
The repetition is obviously not functional.
And the content of the EU Act itself - in my view of course - is incompatible with the rule of law. I have few reasons why I think that is the case.
If anyone at the institutions reads this: rest assured I will write it down when I get to it.
Bon, here is schon mal what I had previously written about this:
The EU AI Act was passed through formal channels, but those channels never considered the epistemic and linguistic asymmetries that multilingual AI systems encode. When fundamental structural effects are never disclosed, modeled, or debated, the result may be formally legitimate, but substantively unaccountable. That is not democracy. That is automated governance under informational blindness.
The EU AI Act thereby violates Germany’s constitutional identity, adopted without satisfying democratic will-formation requirements.
Specifically, it violates:
Art. 20 GG: Democracy, rule of law, social statehood, federalism
Art. 79(3) GG: The Eternity Clause
The German Basic Law (Grundgesetz) guarantees that core constitutional principles are unamendable—even through EU integration. This issue falls under 'Identitätskontrolle', not merely ultra vires analysis.
Germany’s Article 20 GG defines the Federal Republic as a democratic and social state. Democratic in this sense requires will-formation that is rational, participatory, and informed — not just formally procedural.
When an EU regulation reshapes cognitive access, legal interpretation, and language parity — without these effects being debated, disclosed, or even known — then the Federal Republic of Germany cannot fulfill its democratic mandate under Article 20 GG.
I think that’s it.
Having said all of this, the typical cycle of describing such structural flaws in our modern institutions will be play out as it always does:
The system declares rights – loudly, repeatedly, in foundational texts
An individual - that’s me in this case - believes the declarations
– and interprets injustice as exception, not structureThe system withholds remedy
– but does so procedurally, not violentlyThe individual begins to see the structure
– and names itThis naming is reclassified as overreaction or extremism
– “disqualified” for clarityMost people look away, reassured that if any meaningful rights were really violated, “someone would surely do something.” I am not blaming anyone.
System remains intact, cloaked in rights language, self-protecting
Seeing the incoherence is one thing. What good does it do?
Nothing.
It took me two years to reach this let’s say ‘clarity’ in analysis. I tried everything in the book, but nothing made a difference — because it is structurally impossible to be heard. No evidence, no proof, no help. I don’t exist.
This is what led me to attempt a forensic diagnosis of institutional cognition. Shemot is my project name for that. It dissects the fatal error in thinking — mistaking coherence for substance — because people don’t know how to think correctly, and we don’t know how to teach a method of thinking or test for valid reasoning.
But I do know now:
My ‘operating system’ for thinking #myndOS
It’s not arrogance. It’s my only chance to survive.
#shemot