Writing in the Telegraph, Kate Hoey is right to warn that Labour is about to unleash lawfare on Britain's veterans. What she exposes is not a technical dispute over legacy legislation, but a deeper collapse of state responsibility. In revisiting the past, the government is repudiating its own authority and offering up those who served it as payment.
Under Keir Starmer, Britain has chosen to subordinate its judgement to an external legal order and call the result justice. The gutting of the Legacy Act was not forced upon this country. It was a political decision, taken willingly, to abandon a domestic settlement designed to end endless legal pursuit and replace it with permanent uncertainty for those who wore the uniform.
The most revealing point in Hoey's article is the one ministers prefer to skate past. International law does not override domestic law. Parliament could have stood its ground. The appeal against the Northern Ireland ruling could have been pursued. Instead, on the advice of Richard Hermer, the government folded at the first legal challenge and recast surrender as moral seriousness.
This is where the rot sets in. The state is no longer defending its own framework for resolving conflict. It is deferring to the ECHR while insisting its hands are tied. They are not tied. They are withdrawn.
The asymmetry that follows is brutal. Terrorists destroyed evidence, stayed silent, or were rewarded with letters assuring them they would not be pursued. Soldiers kept records, gave statements, and remained traceable. Decades later, only one group remains available for scrutiny. Not because they are more culpable, but because they are still reachable.
This is why the process itself becomes punishment. Endless inquests, reopened cases, civil claims, reputational ruin, all without realistic prospect of conviction. The system knows this. It is not seeking outcomes. It is sustaining motion. Law as industry rather than justice.
Hoey is right to point out the scale of the cost. Billions spent, more to come, with no serious assessment of value or truth produced. What remains undisclosed is how much of this money ends up in legal fees and settlements, and how little reaches victims.
The government's language about truth rings hollow. The IRA kept no archives. Witnesses are dead. Evidence is gone. What remains is narrative, shaped by lawyers and politics. Truth becomes something asserted rather than discovered. Veterans are expected to defend split-second decisions made under fire half a century ago, while those who waged terror face no such reckoning.
The most damning detail of all concerns Gerry Adams. A judge ruled that denying him compensation breached his rights. That finding was removed from the remedial order to avoid public backlash, while ministers know full well he can now take the case to Strasbourg and likely win. Terrorist leaders are insulated quietly. Veterans are exposed publicly.
That contrast tells you everything about priorities. The law bends upward and strikes downward. The state protects itself by sacrificing those with the least power to resist.
What is dressed up as reconciliation is, in reality, bureaucratic self-preservation. Officials shield past decisions by keeping their own failures opaque and redirecting scrutiny onto ageing soldiers who acted under orders in a war the state itself fought.
A serious country does not behave this way. It confronts institutional mistakes at the level they were made. It does not outsource blame to those who carried rifles while others drafted policy.
Kate Hoey has done the country a service by stating plainly what this policy means. Britain is choosing lawfare over loyalty, process over responsibility, and foreign judgement over its own. A state that will not defend those who acted in its name is not correcting history. It is surrendering to it.
"The most damning detail of all concerns Gerry Adams. A judge ruled that denying him compensation breached his rights."
ALT Gerry Adams