The power of the hat

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This week saw the official state opening of parliament. This is a strange ceremony which sees a posh bloke and his wife arrive in a horse-drawn carriage, with his magic hat following behind in a carriage of its own because, apparently, only three people are allowed to touch it (presumably in case the magic wears off or gets imparted to the wrong person). The procession is followed by people responsible for sweeping up the inevitable results of parading horses through the streets. When they get to parliament, the posh bloke sits in a posh seat, wearing his magic hat, and his wife sits in another slightly less posh seat deliberately placed at a lower level so that no-one ends up looking taller than the posh bloke himself. 

He then gets handed a speech, written on goatskin parchment which contains no trace of goat, which he is obliged to read out to an audience comprising as of right several hundred legislators who have not been elected to the role, including the hierarchy of a single sect of a single religion of only a part of the UK as well as a group which are only there because some ancestor or other did something or other which pleased one of the posh bloke’s ancestors. The officially humble elected legislators are summoned to attend whether they like it or not and forced to stand, which is not entirely strange to them because the legislature has never considered it necesary to provide enough seats for its members anway. The speech contains details of things that the government might or might not do during the next twelve months: there is no obligation on the government to do something just because they’ve forced the posh bloke to say that they would, and there is nothing to stop them doing things which they didn’t even tell the posh bloke about. It also contains party political propaganda which the posh bloke is obliged to read out whether he agrees with it or not.

Apparently, the UK’s so-called modern parliamentary democracy cannot operate without this pantomime being performed before each session. But who, in their right minds, would ever invent a process which placed such a dependency on the alleged powers of that magic hat?

Getting sacked the hard way

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One of the by-products of the latest chapters in the Johnson Saga has been the exposure to public view, once again, of the Ruritanian nature of the rules of the UK parliament. Nadine Dorries promised to resign ‘with immediate effect’ a week ago, but is now refusing to do so until the government give her a satisfactory reason for not ennobling her. (Apparently, demanding an explanation for failing to appoint someone as a member of the legislature for the rest of their life is an entirely reasonable proposition on planet Dorries.)

In fact she can’t resign, even if and when she wants to. For reasons dating back to the days when MPs were often appointed against their wishes, resignation from the House of Commons is illegal. Members can, however, be expelled, and expulsion is automatic for any MP appointed to an office of profit under the Crown unless they have first asked the permission of the House. To facilitate the expulsion of members, two ancient posts have been retained, and been designated as ‘offices of profit’. It’s a strange designation for a job which has neither function nor remuneration – non-office of non-profit would be more accurate. By tradition, only MPs can be appointed to these jobs, and appointment results in immediate expulsion from the House of Commons. MPs can apply to the Chancellor of the Exchequer to be appointed to one of the jobs, and convention says that he can’t refuse. So, for an MP, ‘resignation’ in effect amounts to applying to be expelled.

It gets better. Once a member has been duly expelled for applying for and accepting an unpaid job with no responsibilities, someone has to move a writ in the House of Commons for a by-election to be called. If the majority vote for the writ (and convention, again, says that they must do so), the Speaker informs the Returning Officer and an election is called. Of course, a writ can only be moved and voted on if parliament is sitting; if an MP decides not to apply for a pointless unpaid job until the recess, the writ cannot be moved until parliament reconvenes. And all because they allow tradition to stand in the way of the obvious approach – an ‘I quit’ letter to the Speaker followed by an automatic by-election. Still, it gives MPs something to do and helps them feel important.

But who, in their right minds, would devise such a silly system in the first place?

Playing games

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One of the favourite games played by opposition parties in the House of Commons is to attack other opposition parties by accusing them of voting against something they’ve previously claimed to support or voting ‘with the Tories’. Labour’s apparent policy of abstaining on any opposition motion not proposed by themselves makes them an easy target for accusations of being unwilling to vote for what they claim to support. It’s a simple way for another opposition party to generate a tweet or two, repeated and amplified by supporters on social media, but whether it has much impact on voter opinion is another question entirely. It’s probably more confirmatory than an influential agent of change.

It’s underpinned by a parliamentary system which is unfit for purpose in the contemporary world, whose business is largely set and constrained by the executive arm of government, and which reduces everything to a simple question of ‘ayes’ and ‘noes’ (the word ‘yes’ being a tad too modern for the honourable members to cope with). We will have a classic example of this tomorrow when parliament is due to vote on the government’s comprehensive plan to erect new trade barriers with the EU. The issue is a complex one, but will be presented (and voted on) as a simple matter of ‘this deal or no deal’. There are, though, many opposition members who believe that the best answer is ‘neither’ (Tory MPs who share that view having largely been purged by Johnson last year). Abstention is an option, but there is no way of distinguishing between an abstention as a way of saying neither and abstention as a way of expressing apathy or indifference. And abstention will always be presented by others as being a cop-out.

I don’t envy the MPs who have to make a call on this tomorrow. The Johnson deal is clearly better (for which read ‘less bad’) than no deal, but voting for the deal means aiding and abetting the biggest assault on freedom of movement, freedom of trade and international co-operation which has been seen in generations. Labour’s opposition to a no deal seems likely to drive them to support what will become, as a result, a Labour-Tory Brexit, something of which others will no doubt constantly remind them as the consequences become clearer in coming months and years. The SNP seem determined to vote against, given that Scotland clearly voted against any sort of Brexit. It’s a brave stance, which others will no doubt use to accuse them of supporting a no deal exit. Those who decide to abstain will, for years to come, be accused of not being able to take a clear position on one of the most important votes in decades. The detail and the principles involved will rapidly be lost in the fog of propaganda.

It would be comforting to think that all this might propel at least some of them to start thinking about parliamentary reform, not least in finding ways to record the nuances of different positions in the final decisions taken. If ‘taking back control’ meant anything at all, it would surely mean strengthening parliamentary democracy, yet the whole Brexit process has shown how weak and ineffective a legislature which is subordinate to the executive can be. It can’t even set its own agenda. There is little cause for optimism, however. The honourable members are too comfortable playing their games within the constraints set for them, and besides, the main opposition party clings to the belief that it will be their turn to govern eventually, and the last thing they would want to deal with is a powerful and effective legislature. They fully deserve their share of the blame for what is about to happen.

Searching for a rational explanation

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It could, of course, be the case that reducing the self-styled ‘mother of parliaments’ to complete farce is an accidental by-product of the madness of the author of the new system of voting. Clinical insanity is certainly the simplest and most obvious explanation of the thought process which would lead anyone to conclude that the most suitable way of voting in any parliament is one which excludes many MPs completely and requires the rest to spend 45 minutes shuffling along a 1km long queue every time they hold a vote. And Rees-Mogg certainly looks less than 100% compos as well as having a history of expressing strange views. The problem with that explanation is that it doesn’t explain why a majority of those taking part in the farce concluded that it was, indeed, such a brilliant idea that it should become the new norm. There could be something in the water in Westminster – but if that were to be the explanation, the Tory MPs would need to be imbibing from a different water supply than that used by members of other parties. Some of them, of course, just do whatever they’re told, either because they’re part of the government or because they want to be, but they surely can’t all be blind to the sheer idiocy of what they’ve agreed. I know that they wanted the UK to become a ‘world leader’ but I assumed they meant in terms of respect not mockery and derision.

There is however an alternative and much more sinister possibility. Deliberately excluding some members from participation in decision-taking might suit the government rather well on the whole, particularly if it differentially affects its political opponents. Excluding those MPs from Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland who choose to abide by the advice of their respective governments instead of returning to London would certainly have the not insignificant side-effect of boosting the Tory majority. At a time when the PM’s actions over Cummings are causing huge disquiet on his own side, reducing the opportunities for a combination of opposition MPs and disgruntled Tories to conspire against him could be quite handy. And the derision with which the rest of the world views the system, coupled with the reluctance of MPs to be seen participating in such a farce might help in another way as well: it could make MPs less keen to call for divisions at all. If they know not only that every vote is going to cost them valuable time, but also that they’re all going to look like complete fools every time a vote is held, that might just encourage some to call for votes less frequently. (Although that could backfire if the public blamed the government rather than those calling for votes.)

It’s certainly a negation of democracy, but whether that’s due to a serious outbreak of madness in the governing party or a deliberate action to avoid scrutiny and challenge is open to interpretation. As a rule, I always tend to favour the simpler explanation, but there is something of a pattern to the avoidance of scrutiny and debate in the case of the current PM.

Taking responsibility

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In a recent post, I suggested that, far from being the ‘mother of all parliaments’ any objective examination of the Westminster system suggests that the UK is a recent and reluctant convert to the idea of democracy, with an establishment which continues to resist the full implementation of the concept.  Over the past week or so, there have been at least three instances underlining the limited nature of what passes for ‘democracy’ in the UK.

The first was the infamous action of a sole Tory MP in blocking the ‘upskirting’ bill in the House of Commons despite the bill enjoying widespread support.  The MP concerned has rightly come in for a great deal of criticism, and I have little sympathy with his claim that he has been scapegoated for his action.  The doesn’t stop me asking, though, whether he is entirely the right target here.  What sort of a democratic parliament allows a situation where, even if 649 of the 650 members support a measure, the one solitary exception can block the passage of the measure simply by shouting ‘object’ at the right time, rather than taking a vote of those present?  The real problem here isn’t the man himself, it’s a procedural system which gives each and every one of the MPs an effective veto on certain types of legislation.

The second is the way in which parliament is only allowed to vote for or against some motions, and no amendments are allowed.  This is a key element to the debate about the ‘meaningful’ vote at the end of the Brexit process.  MPs are effectively being told that they can only vote for or against the government’s report on the outcome of negotiations and that the motion will be ‘unamendable’, which means that MPs only have two choices – accept what’s been negotiated or leave the EU with no deal.  Again, I ask: what sort of democratic debating chamber only allows its members to vote for or against what the government proposes, and does not allow legislators to debate other options in order to arrive at the one enjoying the greatest consensus?

And the third is the statement by Theresa May that Parliament "cannot tie the hands of government in negotiations".   It’s a statement made as though it were unchallengeable and unalterable truth, but I ask: “why ever not?”.  What exactly is wrong with the idea that the parliament directly elected by the people should lay down parameters within which the government must act?  Isn’t that what the legislature is there to do?

The discussion concentrates on the outcomes and the personalities causing them, but there is an underlying problem here with the limited nature of parliamentary democracy in the UK and the excessive power of the Executive over what the Legislature can do.  MPs claim that they are there ‘to hold the government to account’, but the arcane rules and processes of the institution to which they belong effectively constrain their ability to do that.  Instead of turning their minds to a few simple procedural changes which would enhance democracy, their obsession with the perfection of the Westminster model leads them to play a blame game rather than take responsibility.

"We can't vote them out"

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One of the core beliefs of Anglo-British nationalists is that the UK is somehow the font of democracy.  If there’s a phrase that they love, it’s the idea that England (and the term really was coined in relation to England not the UK) possesses the ‘mother of parliaments’.  It’s one example of the way in which the Anglo-British nationalist perspective differs significantly from both a more European perspective and the facts of the matter.

The English parliament is far from being the oldest in the world – that honour belongs elsewhere – but more importantly there is often a conflation of two very different concepts; having a parliament is not at all the same thing as being a democracy.  The fact that a monarch at some point convened a council of barons to advise him does not amount to the establishment of democracy.

Democracy is not a UK invention; it is very much a foreign one, later imported to the UK.  Indeed, from an objective rather than jingoistic perspective the UK looks to be a recent and reluctant convert to the principle of democracy, only introducing universal suffrage theoretically in 1928 whilst not doing so in practice until the right of some people to vote twice or even three times in the same election was abolished in 1948; and still refusing to abolish the role of hereditary peers, appointees and bishops of the official state religion.  ‘Democracy’ in the UK is a work in progress rather than a fully implemented concept, and that progress remains painfully slow leaving a version of ‘democracy’ which looks antiquated and arcane from the perspective of astonished Europeans.

It’s true, of course, that the Westminster system has been the model for many other countries, but these are countries which used to be part of the British Empire and for which their system was designed, unsurprisingly, by the colonial power in Westminster.  Those who think their own system perfect are hardly likely to suggest a better one for anyone else, and the copying process invariably included the retention of the hereditary head of state and a role for the completely unelected Privy Council until such time as the countries ‘granted’ their independence got around to changing it.

Yet despite the obvious and plentiful evidence of the UK’s own incomplete transition to democracy, the Anglo-British nationalists lecture the rest of Europe and the world about democracy and complain that the European Union is somehow ‘undemocratic’, just because the people of one member state, the UK, can’t unilaterally vote out the president, commissioners and civil servants appointed by the governments of 28 member states, completely overlooking the fact that the people of the UK can’t even vote out their own head of state, or even the members of one of the two houses of parliament.  The astounding part is that so many people fall for this false commitment to ‘democracy’.

Irrelevance in ermine

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Despite all the ferocious warnings that they were given not to get above their stations (and there’s a curious thing for commoners to tell aristocrats, isn’t it?), their lordships decided to go ahead anyway and pass what most of us would see as an eminently reasonable amendment to the Brexit Bill.  But treating foreigners as people rather than as bargaining chips in a negotiation isn’t the style of the UK Government, so they will be seeking to reverse it, as is their right - in constitutional terms, even if not in moral ones.

I found the remarks of the Tory MP for Monmouth in the report on the stern warning that he gave their lordships interesting in what it told us about his mindset (and presumably the mindset of many of his colleagues).  He told us, in effect, that he’d never previously given a moment’s thought to whether the House of Lords performs any useful function or whether it needs to exist at all. 

At one level, I’m not really surprised; the acceptance of ‘what is’ as the natural order of things is a central belief to those whom he describes as ‘true blue conservatives’.  But at another level, the lack of critical thinking and analysis of the way in which the UK is governed, and the blind adherence to the way we’ve always done it, goes to the heart of the problem in the way we are governed.  Are the honourable member for Monmouth and his colleagues about to stumble, by accident, on an important truth?  I suspect not; there will be a stamping of feet and some over-the-top rhetoric, and then things will return to normal, with their lordships told to stop trying to behave as though they’re a meaningful part of the legislative process.  And they'll dutifully obey, won't they?  They know their place.

A rose by any other name

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The word ‘parliament’ derives from the French, ‘parler’; so there is a sense in which ‘talking shop’ is a reasonable alternative description.  For reasons which escape me, there seems to be a general belief that an Assembly of the people is somehow a less important establishment, or has less status, than a talking shop.  But the idea that it isn’t a proper legislature unless it’s called a parliament strikes me as being a strange one, placing rather more emphasis on the name than on the function or activity.

‘Assemblée Nationale’ is good enough for France, for example, and worldwide, the title ‘Assembly’, in one form or another, seems to be more prevalent than the use of the term ‘parliament’, as this list indicates.  It’s true that many former possessions of the British empire do still use the term ’parliament’, but being a former possession of a specific empire doesn’t seem to me a particularly good reason for choosing one word over another. 

There is also, I think, a degree of correlation between the source of sovereignty in a country and the name of its legislature; monarchies, where power stems from god through the monarch, tend to prefer the talking shop word, whilst republics, in which power (in theory at least) stems from the people, tend to prefer the concept of an assembly of the people.

So, given a choice between calling our legislature an Assembly or a Parliament, I have a preference for retaining the former rather than aping Westminster.  Sadly, aping Westminster is what our politicians seem to prefer in most things.

Having said that, it’s not an issue of great importance to me – what matters more is what it does.  And in that context, the critique by Daran Hill earlier this week seems relevant.  We have a legislative body which isn’t actually doing very much by way of legislating.  Now, I’m not a fan of passing laws for the sake of it, but in this case I agree with Daran that there does seem to be a lack of ambition for Wales, when there is so much to be done.

And that brings me to my real criticism of the consultation announced yesterday on changing the name of the Assembly.  Whether the AMs spend a lot of time debating this, or whether they spend very little time debating it, as the Presiding Officer suggests, the very fact of launching a consultation on a change of name succeeds in giving the impression that this issue is important to them – and more important, at that, than all the potential legislation that they’re not considering. 

Whether that impression is fair or not isn’t the point; it’s the conclusion that many will inevitably draw.  If the difference was one of great import, it might be worth taking a considered decision to risk a negative response from the public at large, but it really is just a name.  I find it hard to think of a better way of highlighting the disconnect between the real world and our elected representatives than getting involved in this sort of diversionary activity.

Much ado about ... well, what, exactly?

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It is clear than many MPs – including not a few on the Tory benches – are more than a little restless about their role in agreeing the Brexit terms and process.  And given the High Court challenge over whether the Government has the right to invoke Article 50 without the consent of parliament, that restlessness isn’t limited to MPs.  It was stated by the government lawyers during that court hearing that the government’s position is that MPs are very likely to have a vote about the final terms.

What’s a lot less clear to me though is what MPs would actually be voting on, at either stage.  It’s true, as many have argued, that a majority of the UK electorate has voted to depart this particular station, but the electorate wasn’t given any opportunity to select the destination.  Whilst people are reading the referendum result as support for their own particular interpretation, the simplistic nature of the question asked means that none of us can really be certain.

But the problem with a parliamentary vote at the end of the negotiation process is that that, too, is likely to end up being a binary choice, and not necessarily of the sort that people are expecting. 

I suspect that it will not be a choice between Brexit on ‘these’ terms or no Brexit (with the latter requiring, morally if not legally, a further referendum, and therefore being dependent on a clear indication of a change in public opinion).  That would be messy and politically difficult, but would at least give an opportunity for a rethink in the cold light of day with all the implications clear.  If people then chose to support it, no-one would be able to argue that they hadn’t had the consequences spelled out to them. 

But MPs are more likjely to be given a choice between Brexit on whatever terms the government has negotiated by that point and Brexit by simply walking away with no deal of any sort.  MPs may find that the choice for which they are lobbying so hard will turn out to be one of the Hobson’s variety.

Legality and morality

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The Panama Papers have highlighted for me an increasing trend amongst politicians, bankers etc. to transfer all responsibility for deciding on the morality of a given action to the legislators in parliament.  Anything which isn’t specifically illegal is thus automatically deemed acceptable.  The phrase “no wrongdoing” is glibly equated with “no criminal activity”. 

The law company at the centre of the scandal has gone one step further in defending itself by drawing attention to the fact that it’s never been charged with any offences in 40 years of activity.  True, but the parallel which came to mind was with a very successful bank robber who’s never been caught.  Never having been caught isn’t at all the same thing as never having committed any criminal acts, yet that seems to be the essence of their defence.

Cameron in particular is squirming under the pressure, and rightly so given his previous condemnation of others for similar activities.  His latest line – that the infamous trust wasn’t set up to avoid tax, merely to allow trading in dollar-denominated securities – is an attempt to tell us that the tax-avoiding consequences of the decision to set up the trust in that way are merely some sort of ‘incidental’ result of an action taken for an otherwise entirely proper reason.  Perhaps from his perspective that sounds credible, but I doubt that many will be convinced. 

It’s bad enough when the bankers fall back on the simplistic equation of morality and law, but for ministers and legislators, it’s a much bigger problem – because, after all, they’re the ones who make the law.  For them to defend an action on the basis that they themselves haven’t actually legislated to outlaw it simply doesn’t wash; rather, it makes the offence worse.

It’s probably unreasonable to expect that legislators and ministers, drawn as they are on an almost random basis from the population, will be on average any more honest or less venal than those outside parliament.  And given the electoral processes, there is no easy way for the electors to keep them honest, not least because there can never be any guarantee that any replacements will be any better than those they replace.  But we can and should challenge the simplistic assumption that morality and legality are one and the same thing.  And especially so in the case of those making the laws.

How long is long enough?

Tweet One of the leaders of the Conservatives in Wales has told us this week that five years is too long a term for the National Assembly.  But Andrew Davies hasn’t, as far as I can see, enlightened us as to how long the term should be.  Perhaps he hasn’t made his mind up on that one yet.  Or perhaps Stephen Crabb simply hasn’t told him the right answer yet.

It’s true, of course, that the extension from the previous norm of 4 years to the new one of 5 was more accidental than intentional, as an unthought-through consequence of the decision (by his own party) to move to fixed term parliaments for the UK, and the perceived need to avoid holding elections on the same date.  He’s not arguing with that decision, it appears, even though the effect of a move to a fixed term at Westminster has probably increased the average length of a Westminster parliament from around 4 to 5.  And he doesn’t seem to be arguing that the elections should, after all, be held on the same day.

I wouldn’t object to a shorter term, as it happens.  After all, from what I remember of history, ‘annual parliaments’ was a core demand of the Chartists.  Now that would be a neat way of keeping them on their toes, and getting rid of some of them a bit more rapidly.  It’s an entirely honorable demand to make – but something tells me that it isn’t what he means.

My real questions are:

(a)  how do we decide how long the term should be – he’s come up with a negative with no real justification to back it up and no argument for any alternative; and

(b)  why, if the issue is relevant for the Assembly, it isn’t also relevant for the Westminster and European parliaments.  What’s the difference?

It would be nice to be able to believe that he and his party see the Assembly as being the most important level of government; so important that we need to vote on its membership more often.  I rather suspect, though, that he’s coming at it from the opposite perspective.

Shoddily built

Tweet Listening to the radio in the car yesterday, I heard an item about the planned refurbishment of Buckingham Palace.  An enthusiastic spokesman for one organisation – didn’t catch which – told listeners that it was essential that the work should be done, because the palace is a vital part of British heritage.  In almost the next breath, he said that part of the problem was that the palace had been thrown up using shoddy materials in the first place.  I couldn’t help but see in that juxtapositioning a wider analogy about the way that ‘our’ heritage has developed.

The £150 million cost of refurbishing the royal palace is small beer, of course, compared to the estimates for refurbishing the Palace of Westminster which were floated last week, but there is nevertheless a common thread.  In both cases, it is proposed to spend large sums of money on repairing and patching up old buildings which are not suitable for purpose now and will still not be suitable for purpose when the work is completed.  Doing them up a bit as tourist attractions is one thing, but pretending that the result will be buildings which are fit for the 21^st century is simply delusional.

But, in another analogy with ‘our’ heritage, pretending that delusion is reality seems to be mainstream accepted consensus.  It never ceases to amaze me how quickly people who walk in through the doors of the Palace of Westminster become wedded to the place with all its peculiar foibles and arcane practices, and end up believing that it’s the only possible way of doing things.

In any rational world, the fact that Parliament is falling apart would be seen as an opportunity to find or design a building which actually had enough seats and office space for all the members, and which enabled them to vote in seconds at their seats rather then spending hours walking in circles so that they can be counted like a farmer counts his sheep.  (And a building fit for purpose would raise an awful lot of questions about other processes and procedures as well.)

A crumbling royal palace should be a good opportunity to ask whether a family which actually lives in a nine-room apartment really needs a 775 room palace (to say nothing of the other palaces).  Or why a largely ceremonial monarchy with no real power over anything needs so many staff and offices.

It is, though, in the nature of ‘our’ heritage, jerry-built with shoddy materials as it is, to never ask such impertinent questions, let alone expect our rulers to answer them.  Clinging on to the past is all they seem to know, even when it’s literally collapsing around them.

Legislating isn't governing

Tweet Much of what has been and is being said about the situation which will arise after the election is predicated on the assumption that governments must command a majority in the House of Commons, and if no party has such a majority in its own right, then it has to take steps to guarantee the support of one or more other parties.  It isn’t entirely true, though.

For sure, there are one or two key votes where a majority is necessary for the continuation of a government.  Passing the budget and fending off votes of no confidence are the two obvious examples.  But these are far from being everyday occurrences.  As a general rule, the executive can govern without much need to refer anything to the legislature.

Power to ‘govern’ isn’t – and never has been – vested in the House of Commons.  It is, instead, passed by the sovereign directly to ‘her’ (not ‘our’) ministers, and is generally exercised in Whitehall, not Westminster.  Governments and Ministers have to work within any rules or constraints set down by legislation, of course; and a government without a majority might find it challenging to introduce new legislation or amend existing legislation without being certain of a majority. 

Having said that, most clauses of most bills are singularly uncontentious.  Whilst the impression which the parliamentarians like to give us is of a fierce line by line fight on each and every act of parliament, that picture bears little relation to reality.  A government without a majority would and could still get a lot of non-contentious legislation through parliament; it’s only the most politically contentious issues which would cause a problem.

This was precisely the position facing Alex Salmond and the SNP between 2007 and 2011.  They managed it on an issue by issue basis; and by avoiding proposing any legislation that they knew could never pass (which is why they had to wait until 2014 for the referendum).  But it worked.  In fact it worked very well, and the Scots clearly believed that they had a competent and effective government.

The problem which the pundits and politicians are getting so exercised about isn’t that a minority government can’t work – it’s that it’s something that they’ve never given enough thought to, because they’re hung up on the macho image of a ‘strong’ government steamrollering its programme through parliament.   The idea that a government could quietly get on with governing, and tone down its legislative programme to that which they can get through, is a strange concept to them even though it’s long been the norm in many other countries.

Governing isn’t legislating; and legislating isn’t governing.  It will do the UK no harm at all to develop a better understanding of that distinction.  It might even provoke people into giving a bit more thought to what parliament is for.  Although, on reflection, that might be at least a part of what’s worrying them.

It's all our fault

Tweet This report from the ERS makes for interesting reading.  In essence, it argues that the FPTP (First Past The Post) is no longer fit for purpose, and that the result of the forthcoming election is likely to be something of a lottery, with just a few percentage points change in the difference between parties making a relatively large difference to the outcome.

I can’t disagree with the conclusion that FPTP is a sub-optimal way of choosing a government; after all, I’ve supported STV as an alternative for decades.  The growth of a multi-party system makes the deficiencies more obvious, but the system was deficient a long time before that.  It worked, up to a point, when most of the population voted for one or other of two main parties; and I suspect that the desire of so many people in those two parties to cling on to the system reflects a lack of engagement with political reality, to say nothing of a deep-seated desire to go back to the ‘good old days’ when they didn’t have to deal with all those ‘others’. 

That belief is part of what drives both of them to say that voting for anyone else is a vote for what they still see as their only ‘real’ opponent.  But when that’s the best argument that either of them can come up with to vote for them, they’re both in a very sorry state.  It’s a strategy which assumes, at root, that the voters are basically stupid, and the fact that it has worked for so long is no reason to assume that it will go on working indefinitely.

It’s something of a misconception, though, that the current system was ‘designed’ to choose a government in an era of two party politics, and that it is the change in nature of the political contest which has shown up the failings of the system.  The electoral system we are using wasn’t really designed to elect a government at all; insofar as any thought was given to it, it was a means by which a constituency elected one or more MPs.  It even pre-dates the modern concept of parties as organisations which exist outside of parliament, and goes back to the days of a very limited franchise, sometimes with only a handful of voters in the ‘rotten boroughs’.

At the time it was adopted, I doubt that anyone gave the idea of alternative methods a moment’s thought; and they would probably have considered the very notion that people could be voting for a government rather than just an individual member to be a very strange one.  And in that context, as a means solely of choosing a representative for a particular geographical area, FPTP is a system which works, in that it identifies the most popular individual of those standing.

It’s only in the more ‘modern’ era that we, rightly, expect the election of a government to be an expression of the overall opinion of the nation, rather than the aggregation of opinion of MPs from individual constituencies.  It should be obvious to anyone that FPTP fails hopelessly to achieve that.  The main reason that we’re stuck with an outdated system is that MPs from the two main parties haven’t yet reached the ‘modern’ era.  They’re still living in an age when people simply elected an MP, and it was for the MP to deal with the important stuff, such as choosing a government.  From that perspective, the problem isn’t with the system; it’s with the voters who are failing to understand that their role is simply to choose between two options.

So – it’s all our fault really.  And actually, it really is – for tolerating this travesty and allowing them to get away with it for so long.

What about East Lothian and Midlothian?

Tweet The West Lothian question has been kicking around for many years as an unresolved issue; but just as there is more to Lothian than the western part, so there is more to this question than is usually asked.

The question generally concentrates on the legislative branch of government, and in that narrow context, it is hard to argue with the claim that it is unfair that MPs from outside England can vote on issues such as health and education which are, in their own areas, devolved to another legislature.  It’s made more complex by the different nature of the devolution settlements in the different parts of the UK, but the principle is quite clear.

The reverse problem applies, however, when it comes to the executive branch of government.  This side receives a lot less attention, because here it is England which gains and Wales, Scotland, and Northern Ireland which lose out.  When the UK cabinet discusses the UK’s finances, or foreign affairs, or defence issues, the English ministers for health, education etc. can and do have a direct input to the discussions, whereas their Scottish, Welsh, and Northern Irish equivalents are shamelessly excluded.  This is just as unfair as the problem with the legislature.

The problem with the simplistic responses which are being suggested by most is that they are overlooking the real cause of the problem, which is that the House of Commons and the Cabinet are trying to do different and incompatible things.  The House of Commons is trying to be both a UK parliament and an English parliament, and the Cabinet is trying to be both a UK cabinet and an English cabinet.

English votes for English laws is a good slogan, and it’s hard to disagree.  It might even be made to work, as long as the party which has a majority in the UK also has a majority in England.  But it doesn’t solve the problem with the cabinet, and the idea that the interests and views of the Scottish, Welsh, and Northern Ireland governments can ever be represented by the respective secretaries of state is complete nonsense.  They seem to spend much of their time telling those other governments that they’re doing the wrong things.

It’s not often that I find myself in agreement with even part of what David Davis says, but in an article in the Sunday Times yesterday, he said that “we have started down a road that will almost certainly lead to an English parliament, an English first minister, and an English cabinet”.  On that, I agree (although whether ‘England’ should be treated as a whole or as a number of regions is an open question.  For anyone wanting to see a stable federal solution, ‘regionalisation’ is likely to be the preferred option, but it’s a matter for the English to decide for themselves.) 

The real question is not what form the English legislature and executive take (they can keep their beloved Westminster for that, and simply elect members only from England) but what form the new federal structure should take.  Whilst the reserved matters – largely defence and foreign affairs – are very important ones, the volume of legislation is hardly enormous.  In their rush to cobble something (and we still don’t know what!) together to head off a yes vote, this is an area they haven’t even begun to think about.

“I’ve done nothing wrong”

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There was a time when MPs were paid nothing for representing their constituencies, and only the very rich could afford to take on the job.  From an establishment point of view, that system had a lot of advantages; it kept power in the hands of the few and excluded the majority from participation in elected politics.  When the Chartists proposed that MPs should be paid a salary, there was some opposition to the idea, but eventually the idea took hold. 
 

I doubt that the Chartists ever expected that MPs would come to regard that salary as being just a part – and for some, quite a small part – of their overall income; the idea was to open up parliament to people from all backgrounds by making the job a full time one.  Today’s salary of some £65,000 is no small sum; it’s well above what most of the population could ever expect to earn.  Yet still we have some MPs who see nothing at all wrong with ‘supplementing’ that income with all sorts of outside interests, some of them dubious to say the least.

Every time some scandal or other is uncovered there are calls for ‘tighter regulation’, or for more scrutiny of what MPs are up to.  And every time the rules are tightened or amended, the unscrupulous find ways around them, and invariably fall back on the excuse that “I’ve done nothing wrong”, because they’ve followed the letter of the rules.

Time, perhaps, to get back to the original thinking behind paying a salary at all.  A full-time job deserves a full time salary, and that’s what they get.  A generous full time salary at that.  Why should they be allowed to earn any extra money at all whilst carrying out that full time job?  A simple, easy to understand, and easier to enforce rule – no outside earnings at all.  Just a salary for doing the job to which they sought and won election.

Some will no doubt argue that this will keep able people out of parliament, since they can earn more elsewhere.  There are a couple of major assumptions in that, however.  

One is that people are motivated primarily or even solely by the amount they can earn.  Maximising personal financial benefit is one of those assumptions that economists like to make about motivation, but it’s not true for everyone and never has been.  Besides, is that what we really want from our elected representatives?  Pursuit, first and foremost, of their own financial interests?

The second assumption is that the most able people earn the most money.  I’m not sure where the evidence is for that assertion; observation suggests to me that it’s the most pushy and ambitious who end up earning the most, not necessarily the most able.  

It’s not the most able who would be deterred from standing for parliament by a ban on outside earnings; it’s the most greedy.  Would that be such a bad thing?

Mob rule

Tweet The proposal put forward last week by the Public Accounts Committee that those who sell aggressive tax avoidance schemes should be ‘named and shamed’ is likely to prove a popular one.  Few of us have much time for those who seek to avoid ‘paying their dues’.  But although I have as little sympathy for them as do most other people, I’m still more than a little uneasy about the idea of officially-backed public vilification.

Like it or not (and I don’t), the reason that there are people prepared to develop and sell such schemes is that there are others who are keen to buy them.  In this case, the sins of the purchasers are at least as heinous as the sins of the sellers.  Besides, none of them are actually doing anything illegal; they are merely using an excessively convoluted tax code to their own advantage.  That may be immoral, in the eyes of many; but it ain’t illegal.

But who sets the standards for morality?  It’s clear that parliament sets the standards for legality (leaving aside the question of being able to abide by those standards themselves!), and for those things declared illegal, the full force of the law can be used against perpetrators.  Public opprobrium is simply a bonus in those cases.

But once we start giving the green light for the media and others to start the opprobrium where there is no illegality, merely a transgression against an unwritten and largely arbitrary moral code, where does it end?  It’s a form of mob rule; and officially sanctioning it makes it uncomfortably similar to some aspects of the former totalitarian states.

Rather than encouraging a process which they are unlikely to be able to control once unleashed, our elected representatives would be more gainfully employed re-writing – and simplifying – the tax code; removing all the little complexities which create the opportunities to avoid tax.  Making tax avoidance schemes illegal, and dealing with the perpetrators under the law, might not be so populist in the short term, but it’s surely more effective in the long term.

How on earth do the others manage?

Tweet It’s the Swedes that I feel sorry for.  And the Danes, and the Norwegians, and the Portuguese, and the … well about half the peoples of the world, to be honest.  After all, they don’t have the ‘failsafe’ mechanism which the House of Lords provides the UK, and which Wales is sadly lacking, according to our former Secretary of State. 

I’m not sure that I’d describe their lordships as a failsafe, and I doubt that anyone else has ever called them that before, but that’s perhaps an aside.  The point which Gillan was making is that the UK Government has an unelected second chamber to obstruct and delay improve on the work of elected representatives and the Assembly doesn’t, which means that there are apparently no checks and balances.

But having a second chamber to revise what the first chamber does at the behest of the government and its whips is not the natural order of things to the extent that she and those who think like her would suggest.  Around half of the world’s legislatures manage perfectly well with a single chamber, and if the House of Lords didn’t exist, it’s hard to believe that anyone in their right minds would actually sit down and invent it.

And having legislation whipped through by the majority party at the behest of the government without proper scrutiny and debate isn’t something unique to the Assembly – indeed, to the extent that it is a problem in Cardiff it’s because the system was designed and implemented by another parliament which operates in precisely that way, aided and abetted by AMs who see aping Westminster as being what a proper parliament is all about.

But my real objection to what she’s saying is that putting a second set of processes and procedures – to say nothing of a second set of politicians – in place to deal with the failings of the first lot is avoiding tackling the real issue – i.e., why the first set isn’t working properly in the first place.  The Tories are usually quite big on pointing to the private sector as an exemplar for most things; but any private organisation which put a whole second set of people in place to correct the problems caused by the first lot rather than resolving the core problem wouldn’t be in business for long.

The problem that she and those who think like her face, however, is that if they admit that the problems can be fixed in one place, it might just lead people to think that they could be fixed elsewhere.  So duplicate what Westminster does, and hope that no-one notices how anachronistic the system is, and how well the rest of the world manages without it.  Abolition of the Lords, anyone?

Boundaries and protests

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The howls of protest from some quarters about the proposed new constituency boundaries were entirely predictable, and had probably been rehearsed for weeks if not months.  That doesn’t mean that they’re entirely unjustified, of course.  Some of the boundaries look highly artificial to me, and seem to ignore geographical and community links.  It’s not a problem unique to Wales, though; merely more acute because of the greater proportionate change here.

The outcome is a more or less inevitable result of giving primacy to the argument that MPs should have, as nearly as possible, equal numbers of constituents.  It’s a difficult argument to counter, but it does depend to some extent on what we see as the primary rôle of MPs.

If they are there, first and foremost, to make laws on behalf of the UK as a whole, then the argument for parity of constituencies is a strong one.  But if they are there, first and foremost, to be representatives of the people and communities in their constituencies, then the extent of geographical spread and homogeneity (or lack thereof) in constituencies becomes a more important one. 

It’s clear which of those two drivers is uppermost in the government’s mind – MPs are there to support (or oppose) the government’s legislative programme, and do as they are told.  But the reality is that we expect them to do both.  In a sense, the second element has become less important in Wales and Scotland as much of the representative work is now done elsewhere, so perhaps we should be less worried.

There is another aspect, though, and it is the extent to which Wales’ voice is lost in a parliament where the overwhelming majority of MPs come from English constituencies.  There are still plenty of issues of concern to Wales being discussed and decided in London, and the size and clarity of the Welsh voice is important in that regard.

Whether the difference between 30 and 40 out of 600 is really significant is another question entirely; and the inability of most of Wales’ MPs to find a specifically Welsh voice rather then being simply the Welsh wing of their UK parties undermines their argument for Welsh over-representation.  The argument for deliberate over-representation of the smaller nations in the UK Parliament is, in essence a ‘nationalist’ argument.  It is rooted in the idea that Wales is a nation which needs to have its voice heard, rather than a region to be treated on the same basis as the regions of England.

It’s fascinating to hear that argument, albeit not in quite those terms, being put by politicians in the UK parties.  The problem is that given their track record it simply sounds like an altruistic cover for protecting their own personal and party interests.  Labour, in particular, have long had a tendency to conflate their party’s interests with those of Wales, but it’s no more credible on the issue of constituency boundaries than it is on a host of other issues.

It’s also fascinating that some nationalists at least seem to be welcoming the reduction in Welsh representation.  If I could be certain that it is just another step on the road to independence than I might be tempted to join them.  But there is no guarantee that it is, and as long as Wales is part of the UK, I really don’t see why anyone would argue against the idea of maximising our representation.

Coming back to bite us

Tweet When the announcement was made that the term of the current parliament will end with an election being held on the same date as the 2015 Assembly Election, there were some mixed reactions. Some saw conspiracy - a deliberate attempt to ensure that the election for the Assembly was fought on UK issues rather than on Welsh issues.

Others, myself included, saw merely cock-up – they simply hadn't realised up in London that the Welsh and Scottish elections were scheduled for the same date. It looks like we were all wrong. My interpretation of the Western Mail's story yesterday is that there is actually a third 'C' coming into play - it seems to be down more to contempt. They just don't see the Welsh and Scottish elections as being that important.

We already knew that the Tories regard Nick Bourne as having no more status in their party than the leader of a Tory group on a county council; and Gillan confirmed yesterday that they see the elections for our National Assembly as being no different in essence to local government elections in England. And it looks increasingly likely that the referendum will be delayed by the new administration - possibly until the same date as the 2011 Assembly elections.

Such decisions completely undermine the position taken by both the Conservatives and the Lib Dems in Wales that holding a referendum on the same day as the Assembly election would undermine the legitimacy of that election by confusing two issues. Both even threatened to sabotage the vote in the Assembly unless they got their own way just a few months ago. No doubt we'll see members of both parties trying to spin their way out of that, but it'll be interesting to watch.

There is a wider point though – and I think it's one that my own party needs to take account of as well. In an age of coalition politics, declaring anything to be 'completely unacceptable' unless we are prepared to make it a red-line issue looks like an unwise thing for any politician to be doing. It's the sort of phrase which is likely to come back and bite us at some future date.

We will instead have to start arguing not why 'A' is entirely right and 'B' is completely wrong, but why 'A' is better than 'B'. I don't think that's a bad thing – forcing politicians to debate the detailed reasoning for their positions rather than resorting to hyperbole and insult is something which I think will help people to re-engage with politics. And it could even help to outline the real difference in approaches between parties more effectively than the current style of politics.