In this blog, Nick Dickinson argues that Stella Creasy’s call for better parental leave rights for MPs is a vital step. But a better system can’t be achieved by IPSA alone, and asking it to do so may undermine the aim of a more representative Parliament in the long run.

The Labour MP Stella Creasy has written to the Independent Parliamentary Standards Authority (IPSA), the body that regulates MPs’ pay and expenses, after the authority denied a request to fund the appointment of a ‘locum MP’ to provide full maternity cover. While Creasy has argued that IPSA must “follow the law on maternity cover” in this respect, the regulator has responded, through its chief executive Ian Todd, that the “concept of a locum… is misconceived in relation to an MP” as a matter of constitutional principle.

In the context of the systematic underrepresentation of women in British politics, IPSA’s position seems hard to justify – appearing to put constitutional niceties ahead of gender equity. Parliament has a long history of direct and indirect discrimination against women MPs, with the fight for better parental rights only the latest in a long list of fights to make Parliament more equitable. IPSA’s position is also undermined on this occasion by having provided funding for a locum position for Creasy previously in 2019, albeit only after similar pressure being applied.

Yet the clear and pressing need to address parental leave for MPs cannot fall to IPSA alone. Independent bodies of various kinds are common in UK. However, IPSA is unique in exercising functions which so directly affect core institutions of British democracy – and which were held until comparatively recently to be the sole prerogative of a democratic sovereign Parliament. For the same reason, its central tasks are sharply delimited: to determine MPs pay and pension contributions and to regulate and administer the system of expenses (or ‘business costs’, as the regulator now calls them).

Throughout its existence, IPSA has been the subject of a variety of attacks by MPs on its decisions. While this was initially directed at the exercise of its core tasks, in particular the regulation of expenses, over time controversies have shifted towards what IPSA is not doing rather than what it is. This has included, among other things, criticism in support of a greater HR role for MPs staff, for whom IPSA provides resources and template contracts, in the context of bullying and harassment scandals in the Commons.

These critiques all have individual merit, but taken together they amount to a form of mission creep with the potential to backfire badly. As scholarship on agencies such as IPSA has shown, their independence is assured through the intensive management of reputation. Contrary to the expectations of public choice theorists, however, this is achieved not through ‘empire building’ and taking on a broader role but by a ruthless focus on narrow core competencies. At a time where some of IPSA’s have once again become controversial this lesson is all the more important.

Moreover, the effective exercise of IPSA’s pay setting competency itself has substantive consequences for gender parity in parliament. Maintaining an adequate level of pay has been shown improve legislator quality by overcoming barriers faced by women in entering legislative bodies. Kotakorpi and Poutvaara (2011), for example, take advantage of a one-off pay reform of Finnish legislators to show that increased remuneration led to increases in levels of higher education among candidates and office holders, but only among women. Likewise, Atkinson, Rogers and Olfert (2016) also find a positive effect of increasing legislators’ compensation on the proportion of highly educated women in the Canadian parliament by increasing the pool of candidates.

Instead, Parliament should take responsibility for the constitutional reforms required for a real solution to the problem. One obvious device would be the use of ‘alternates’ – or substitute candidates elected alongside the primary candidate in each constituency. If the candidate wins office but is unable is unable to serve for any reason (illness, death, extended travel, or, as in this case, parental leave), then the alternate takes their place fulfilling the full functions of the office holder. Alternate positions are widely used in Latin America and can be found in systems around the globe.

Routine use of alternates may also come with other benefits in terms of broadening descriptive representation. By increasing the pool of candidates for office, parties may gain more leverage to strategically nominate members of underrepresented groups to alternate positions. A system of alternates would also allow MPs to take leave for other reasons, for example mental health. This has been highlighted most recently by Labour MP Nadia Whittome’s decision to take time off to recover from Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). But the ability of more MPs to regularly take such breaks may become increasingly important in light of the psychological pressures of modern politics. Again, this impact is very likely to be gendered issue given the broader unequal burden of mental health in the population as a whole.

In sum, Stella Creasy’s call for better parental leave rights for MPs is a vital step towards a more equitable politics. But a better system can’t be achieved by IPSA alone. Moreover, asking it to do so may undermine the aim of a more representative and democratic Parliament in the long run.

Dr Nicholas Dickinson is Bingham Early Career Fellow in Constitutional Studies at Balliol College, Oxford.

Marc Geddes explores fresh drama in the theatre of Westminster. In this blog, he discusses Dominic Cummings’ recent select committee appearance and considers the insight it can offer into the effectiveness of select committees.

Asked if the prime minister, Boris Johnson, is a fit and proper person to get us through the COVID-19 pandemic, the former chief advisor to the prime minister, Dominic Cummings, replied: ‘No’. This damning verdict was given as part of evidence to the joint Science and Technology/Health and Social Care committee inquiry into lessons to be learned from COVID-19. The appearance was high-profile: newspaper articles speculated at length about the session in advance, it was discussed that morning on BBC Radio 4’s Today Programme, the session was trending on Twitter, and it remained headline news throughout the day and into the next. To use the analogy of theatre: it was a front stage political drama. It raises a significant number of questions about the government’s handling of COVID-19. But what does it tell us about select committees? I think there are three interesting issues.

A first issue is about how effectively select committees are able to develop detailed questioning. It was interesting to note how the session played out largely in a non-partisan way (with some exceptions). But more than that, the session showed us the importance of sustained and effective questioning. Greg Clark and Jeremy Hunt – chairs of their respective committees – took up the first hour to question Cummings before other committee members had an opportunity to ask questions. The ability to follow a line of inquiry was crucial to following up on key claims and asking for concrete evidence of Cummings’ allegations through written documents. The chairs were also unafraid to ask follow-up questions when committee members failed to do so (e.g. when Cummings first accused Hancock of lying to the Cabinet, the committee member expressed shock but moved on to another subject). Cummings was held to account, but the session raises questions about the wider questioning skill of committee members. Perhaps there are structural issues at play: with fewer questions, members need to ask more direct and arguably more adversarial questions; knowing you have 30 minutes instead of ten makes a big difference.

While Clark and Hunt, in particular, have come out looking well, there is also a bigger question to be answered about what the joint committee gained from the session. The hearing was wide-ranging (and perhaps unnecessarily long). Cummings made a significant number of eyebrow-raising claims. His answers were long and rich in detail, sometimes backed up by pictures, graphs and text messages. The hearing was an exercise in explanatory accountability: understanding what happened, in detail. It helps paint a picture of how Number 10 operates, which – given the gravity of the decisions – is hugely important. But it was also a picture painted according to one former advisor that has fallen out with, and is disliked by, many in government. His account was therefore partial, and full of contradictions. He was reflective about things he wanted to talk about, but evasive when it came to things he did not want to discuss. The joint committee had a big task in testing the former advisor’s claims, with some (though not complete) success. The committee was good at pushing for evidence and information, but Cummings was still able to talk generally about ‘groupthink’ and system failure without always going into specifics. A second issue that this hearing raises, then, is how individual testimonies fit into the wider picture, and also how effectively the committee gathered accurate information.

A third issue concerns the witness. I have already implied that there is some doubt surrounding the truthfulness of Cummings’ account. Let us not forget that Cummings’ appearance took place despite him being found in contempt of Parliament for refusing to appear in front of a different select committee in 2019. This should raise questions about his motivations for attending in this instance. An underlying issue – as discussed in this recent Constitution Society blog – is the possibly complex relationship between committees, witnesses and contempt, which has been the subject of a number of parliamentary inquiries over the years (as also recently discussed by Paul Evans for the Hansard Society). In any case, a wider issue for Parliament to consider is the truthfulness and credibility of the account of somebody who has previously been found in contempt of Parliament. It is not clear, in the end, how much credibility we should give to Cummings’ evidence. This, in turn, raises the thornier question of whether it was in the committee’s interest to hear from Cummings directly in this way – something that only time will tell.

All three issues return us to a fundamental, existential question: what’s it all for? What is, ultimately, the purpose of this hearing, this inquiry, and scrutiny by select committees? Evidence sessions are an incredibly important part of the scrutiny process. It is through them that committees are able to explore key policy and political issues, gain information about what happened, and to evaluate if things were done as effectively as they could have been. This doesn’t happen through one single hearing, but through multiple different sites across Parliament: along the committee corridor and in hearings, through bilateral meetings, through written communications, through oral and written questions across the Commons and Lords, and much else besides. Through this, Parliament is able to build webs of scrutiny that can be significant for strong accountability – provided that chairs and members are able to ask effective questions in order to establish the truth.

Marc Geddes is Senior Lecturer in Politics at the University of Edinburgh. He is author of Dramas at Westminster: Select committees and the quest for accountability, which won the Mackenzie Prize for Best Book Published in Political Science in 2021.

This blog has been kindly shared with us by The Constitution Society. Please find the original post on their blog series here

Wang Leung Ting writes: A year has passed since the adoption of hybrid proceeding (HP) by Parliament. HP was intended to mitigate the problems that come with the pandemic and lockdown, most important of which is to maintain the representativeness of the House by facilitating participation from vulnerable members, such as aged MPs, who need to be shielded to protect their health, as well as female MPs, who are more likely to be burdened by increase familial and caring responsibilities during the lockdown. It is perhaps time to take stock on HP’s efficacy see if it has the intended effect in facilitating aged and female MPs’ participation in parliamentary proceedings.

But before doing so, we need to address a methodological obstacle: the lack of an observable counterfactual to act as a baseline of comparison. To put it differently, it is impossible to tell how MPs would have behaved should the impact of the pandemic was not mitigated by HP. Without knowing that, we cannot determine whether HP has indeed changed MPs’ behaviour.

However, the scope of HP has gone through a couple of changes in the past year as shown in Table 1. During the height of the first wave of the pandemic (P1), HP applied to both substantive (i.e. debate on legislation) and scrutiny (i.e. Questions to ministers) business. This was narrowed during last summer and autumn (P2), when HP was limited to scrutiny business only. It was not until the end of December(P3), with the onset of the second wave of infection, that the arrangement under P1 was restored.  

We can therefore exploit these expansions and contraction of the scope of HP to determine its impact on MPs behaviour: If HP does facilitate the participation of aged and female MPs, we should observe these two groups of MPs being more active during P1 and P3, when the application of HP was more expansive, in comparison to the more restrictive P2.

Let’s begin by looking at MPs participation at the aggregate level. The following graph shows the total number of words spoken by all backbench male (blue) and female (red) MPs each week from the beginning of this parliament until 18th Mar 2021 as recorded in the Hansard. We can see that there is a dramatic drop in the number of words spoken during P1 for male MPs whilst the negative impact for female MPs is much less apparent.

What about older MPs? Graph 2 shows the result of the same analysis as the first but this time between MPs who are over the age of 65 at the beginning of the pandemic (Green) and those who aren’t. We can see that there wasn’t much change for aged MPs participation throughout 2020 except a very modest increase in the number of words spoken by MPs above the age of 65 with the onset of P3.

Graph 3 below shows the number of words spoken by female and aged MPs as the proportion of all words spoken in each week. For female MPs, despite some fluctuation, their participation remains quite steady except for the slight increase in P3 in comparison to the end of P2. As for MPs over 65 years of age, again there is no dramatic shift except for some modest increase toward the end of P2, which continued under P3.

To further explore the effect of HP on MPs participation at the individual level, I have fitted two Time-series Poisson regression models on the number of words spoken by each backbench MP in any weeks throughout the study period. The baseline of comparison in both models is P2, as suggested in the aforementioned hypothesis. The model includes MP fixed effects, which confine the analysis to variation of participation within an MP across weeks. It also contains week fixed effects, which control for time-varying factors that may affect MPs participation, most important of which is varying number of sitting days and the length of proceeding between weeks.

Table 2 shows the result of the two models. Model 1 considers P1 and P3 separately. The results confirmed some of the aforementioned observations. For male MPs, there is a clear drop in participation during P1. In comparison to P2, the weekly number of words spoken by a male MP drop by about 60% whilst the drop among female MPs is only around 50%. Moreover, this distinction between male and female MPs in P1 is statistically significant. A similar effect is also observed in P3 although the gender distinction is no longer statistically significant. Model 2 considers P1 and P3 together as the scope of HP under both phrases are roughly the same. Again, it shows that there is a statistically significant and gendered distinction in the impact of the expanded scope of HP under P1 and P3.

What about aged MPs? Although HP did not bring many benefits for them in P1, but they did catch up eventually during P3. On average, aged MPs spoke 35% more each week during P3 than they did in P2. Moreover, there is an interaction between age and gender as this effect is particularly strong among older female MPs.

These results suggest is that HP does facilitate female and aged MPs’ participation in parliamentary proceedings. As the scope of HP increase in P1 and P3, so did the number of words spoken by female MPs. Although the effect is most apparent during Phrase 1 when it was driven by the fact that the impact of the first wave of the pandemic is less negative for female MPs in comparison to male MPs. As for older MPs, the benefit of HP is not apparent until Phrase 3. This suggests that there is perhaps a steeper learning curve for older MPs to adopt the use of technology. Once they are acquainted with the new arrangement, HP does indeed increase aged MPs’ participation as well.

A limitation of this study is that it focuses entirely on what happened in the (virtual) chamber. What it cannot take into account is the possibility that the benefit of HP could also lie beyond the chamber, such as allowing MPs to do more in their constituency or for their family without the usual trade-off with traveling to Westminster to participate in parliamentary proceedings.

As the country seems to be turning the corner with the pandemic, there has been an ongoing discussion, both in and out of Westminster, on what roles, if any, should HP play in Parliament post-COVID. Results in this post have demonstrated that HP does have a positive impact on the participation of MPs belonging to underrepresented and vulnerable groups, there is therefore a case in favour of maintaining some form of HP in parliamentary proceedings in the long run.

Wang Leung Ting is a Fellow in the Department of Government at LSE.

Last year, extra funding was offered to MPs to help them and their offices cope with the COVID-19 pandemic. The public outcry that ensued showed the confusion and misunderstandings amongst the public about the work of MPs and the staff who support them. But even before COVID-19 hit us, the job of an MPs’ staffer was difficult to decipher from the outside and most people know very little about the 3,000 people who play key roles in the functioning of our democracy.

Rebecca McKee presents the first data from her project on MPs’ staff, summarising her findings in response to the question ‘who works for MPs? Much of the data presented here is from a survey of MPs’ staff and more information about the survey can be found on the project webpage.

We know more than ever about our MPs – who they are, what motivates them, and what they say and do in the course of their work. They work hard, and their workload is growing. But this work is supported by just over 3,000 staff, working in offices across the UK, and we know very little about these ‘unsung heroes’, as former Commons Speaker John Bercow called them. They undertake a wide variety of roles, as gatekeepers, controlling access by constituents and interest groups; they are resources, providing research and policy advice; they are channels, linking the constituency to Westminster; and they are providers of essential administrative support. They sit at what has been termed the ‘representational nexus’, as they represent the constituents to the MP and the MP to their constituents.

These individuals have an unusual employment status; they are not public servants in the way that a civil servant is. MPs are responsible for employing their own staff directly and they are able to set the direction of work and the roles of the staff needed to support them, essentially running 650 small businesses. They do so within a framework covering salaries and job descriptions, overseen by the Independent Parliamentary Standards Authority (IPSA). There is no formal hiring process and staff may lack some of the usual employment protections and support systems. Yet these roles can also provide the incumbents with significant benefits. Staff may be able to trade on the valuable experience they have gained and the networks they have become privy to. Some, but not all jobs, can be a stepping stone to a career as a parliamentarian, a political journalist, in a public affairs agency, or other role where knowledge of ‘the inside’ and a demonstrable ability to engage with it counts for a lot.

Yet not everyone can take advantage of these opportunities. The experience of a caseworker in a constituency office will differ from that of a parliamentary researcher in the Westminster office, simply on account of the different work they do, their exposure to Westminster politics and the people they interact with as part of their job.

Given the importance of these staff in supporting MPs and the hugely varied experiences they have, we should ask who are these people who work for MPs?

IPSA routinely publishes some data on MPs’ staff, but as it’s collected for monitoring MPs’ expenditure and payroll purposes it is quite limited. In autumn 2019 I conducted a survey, sent to the offices of all MPs. I asked questions on three key themes: equality and diversity, capacity and skills, and employment practices and opportunities. I am very grateful for the responses I received, and that staff took the time to engage with this project. Where it was possible to compare with existing IPSA data, I could see that I achieved a sample that was largely representative in terms of gender and category of job (job family – see later) but less so in terms of political party, so the data have been weighted to take account of party in the analysis. More information about the survey is available on the project webpage. The figures cited in the following sections come from the survey, except in some cases where the data is taken from IPSA’s website. In these cases I have added a link to the source.

Who works for an MP?

Taking an average of the data, a ‘typical’ staff member is female, 37 years old, white, a state educated university graduate who is working in a junior executive role, for example a Junior Caseworker, in the constituency office. Overall, about 56% of MP’s staff are female, and 93% are White. More than half are over 30 years old, the longest serving staff member according to an IPSA FOI in 2018 had been working for an MP for almost 39 years. Their educational backgrounds vary. Almost 70% received their secondary education at a state comprehensive or secondary modern school, 15% attended an independent (fee-paying) school, and 14% attended a state grammar school. The proportion who attended an independent fee-paying school is almost double the average for the UK population (7%), but half of that of MPs themselves (29% in 2019).

This is a skilled workforce, as judged by formal qualifications. Around three quarters of all staff have a university degree, and around a fifth have a postgraduate degree. Of those with a degree 48% received it from a Russell Group University, including 7% from Oxbridge. The vast majority of degrees are in the Humanities or Social Sciences – of those with degrees, 90% at undergraduate and 82% at postgraduate level have degrees in these subjects. The rest are divided among the Sciences, Business, Education, and Planning.

Of course, university is not the only place where people gain experience and skills. Because there are 650 individual offices, each with a small number of staff, a higher proportion are in the senior roles needed to run them. Just under a third are in the top employment band including, for example, Office Managers and Senior Parliamentary Assistants, which gives them experience in taking responsibility that will be very useful in future roles. Overall, staff have worked in a broad range of sectors, including but not limited to hospitality, consulting, marketing, retail, law, finance, research and health and social care. The most common settings are the charity – or ‘third – sector’ (11%) and public services and administration (18%), such as local government, the Civil Service, government agencies or elsewhere in parliament. Around 15% had previously worked in an administrative role. This makes sense when we consider that many MPs depend on skilled administrators and office managers. While it is clearly valuable to have staff who bring expertise from outside, it’s always possible for staff to learn on the job, making use of the vast experience offered to them once they’re in the door. As Chris Skidmore MP explained, a background in Tudor History doesn’t preclude you from getting a job with an MP, working your way up through the system, getting elected yourself and one day becoming the Universities and Science Minister. 

Staff have a wide range of political experience. Just over 20% said that they had held party office at local level, 13% had been elected as a local councillor, and 4% had been a candidate for the UK or European Parliament. However, the goal of becoming an MP is not universal – when asked how likely it was that they would ever run for parliament, almost 50% stated that the chance was zero.

The structure of staffing: Job families

MPs are responsible for staffing their offices, creating roles that are in line with the job descriptions and salary brackets set out by IPSA, whilst not exceeding their overall staffing budget. Ideally MPs will use this budget to staff an office with the appropriate mix of roles to support their work, within the budget they are given. In 2018, each MP had 4.3 people on average supporting them. However, the way that MPs staff their offices varies hugely; some MPs choose to have all staff in the constituency office and have no one in Westminster, instead making use of pooled research services, others choose to have a large number of junior researchers in Westminster, and some – very few – have no staff at all.

Job titles, job descriptions, and pay levels are brought together as ‘job families’ by IPSA. There are three job families; administrative, executive, and research, they sit amongst three levels of seniority which link to the job description and salary bands. IPSA asks that MPs employ their staff within this structure. Despite the wide range of possible job titles, over 50% of staff reported having one of four; Caseworker, Parliamentary Assistant, Office Manager, and Senior Caseworker. Whilst this structure is used by MPs to staff their offices, it’s recognised by many that in practice staff often work across the spectrum. In the survey I asked staff to write in an alternative job title if they felt their job wasn’t fully reflected in the IPSA structure. Just under 10% chose to do so, although many of the additional suggestions were within the same job family or tier.

Table 1 shows how staff are formally split across this framework. Administrative roles are split across three tiers, whilst executive and research roles are split across two.

Using this framework to look at who works for an MP, we can see how staff in different roles may have different experiences. Perhaps the greatest difference relates to where they are mainly based, in the MP’s constituency or Westminster offices. Approximately 85% of research staff are based in the Westminster office. This drops to around 30% for administrative staff, and further to only 12% for executive staff. The experiences of staff across all 650 MPs offices will be different, but there is some association between where they work, their role, and the experiences they will have.

In the NHS, women have traditionally been more likely to work in administrative and human resources roles – in 2017, 75% of HR staff were women. We can see a similar pattern for MPs’ staff – almost three quarters of administrative staff are women, occupying roles such as secretaries or personal assistants, traditionally held by women. A January 2018 FOI request to IPSA revealed that, within the senior tier of the administrative job family, although 83% of Principal Secretaries were women, this was the case for only 35% of people with the job title Chief of Staff.

There are also more women than men working in the executive job family, but whilst the majority of caseworker and support staff were women, men are in the majority when it comes to communications roles. The story is different amongst research staff, who are more likely to be male but the distribution among different job titles is more balanced. 

Other characteristics also vary. The largest differences are between the administrative and research staff, with executive staff falling roughly in the middle. The average age of an administrative staff member (42 years) is almost double that of a researcher (22 years).

Over 90% of research staff have a degree, compared with 62% of administrative staff.

Why does this matter?

These staff make an important contribution to the democratic process, sitting at the heart of this ‘representational nexus’. They present parliament to the world and they present the world back to parliament. When we talk about accessibility and diversity in the House of Commons or the Cabinet, we need to apply that same logic to those who work for MPs and support the valuable work that they do.

If some jobs, such as research roles based in Westminster, provide greater opportunities to gain experience and develop networks that are valuable for political career advancement, but exclude those in other roles, then we need to think carefully about how and why the characteristics of those working in these roles is so different. This is especially so given the prevailing informal hiring practices, which can make it difficult to understand who is employed in each role and why. We need to know more about how the process of hiring staff works, what experiences staff gain in their roles, and what their career progression is like. My staff survey goes a long way to shedding light on this. More information from the survey will be available shortly and published in future blog posts, as well as in a Constitution Unit report due in late autumn.

This blog post has been kindly shared by the Constitution Unit Blog. The content was also presented at the PSA Parliaments Group Conference, and is available to view.

This project is ongoing, so if you work for an MP, or have worked for an MP and would like to discuss the project or are available for interview please do get in touch using the contact information on this webpage.  The author would like to say a thank you to former and current staff who have assisted with this project, who have either discussed their experiences in person, completed the survey, offered advice or who have read over drafts. It is very much appreciated. This project is funded by the British Academy as part of a Postdoctoral Fellowship.

Dr Rebecca McKee is a Research Fellow at the Constitution Unit. Rebecca is researching representation and diversity in parliament and is currently running a project on MPs’ staff.

Felix Wiebrecht, PhD Candidate in the Department of Government and Public Administration at The Chinese University of Hong Kong, summarises his recently published study on the notable differences in strength of legislatures in authoritarian regimes.

Barbara Geddes famously stated that “different kinds of authoritarianism differ from each other as much as they differ from democracy” and the same is true for their legislatures. From country-specific case studies we know that some of them neatly fit into the long-dominating narrative of authoritarian legislatures being merely of a ceremonial nature and nothing more than ‘rubberstamps’. Examples of this would include the parliaments of Belarus, Turkmenistan, Sudan, and in one of the most extreme cases that of North Korea.

Other parliaments, however, enjoy a wider range of powers, at least in the constitution if not necessarily in practice such as the Vietnamese National Assembly or the Grand National Assembly in Turkey’s past authoritarian periods. Among the de facto powers, the Parliament of Singapore is an example that fulfils a lot of the important functions of being able to remove the Head of State or investigate the executive independently. Prior research, such as the Parliamentary Powers Index (PPI) developed by Fish and Kroenig, provides evidence that, perhaps not surprisingly, legislatures in democracies tend to be more powerful when compared to those in authoritarian regimes. But how do we make sense of the great variance of legislative strength, i.e., the accumulation (or absence) of different powers of legislatures vis-à-vis the executive, across authoritarian regimes?

I find that across authoritarian regimes the level of democracy is also a highly significant but relatively weak predictor of how strong legislatures are. Three other factors are more pronouncedly linked to legislative strength, namely whether the regime is headed by a personalist dictator, whether it holds elections and whether an opposition is represented in the legislature.

Not all dictators are personalist leaders, i.e., those that control “access to key political posts, as well as most major policy decisions” (Frantz, 2018:76) such as Mao Zedong, Alexander Lukashenko or Muammar Gaddafi that face almost no constrains in their rule from regime insiders or outsiders. However, the closer an authoritarian leader comes to this ‘ideal-type’ of a dictator, the weaker the legislature tends to be.

However, when authoritarian regimes allow an opposition in parliament and when they hold elections, they also have stronger legislatures on average. In the tradition of literature on authoritarian regimes this can be seen as the manifestation of the cooptation mechanism. Most prominently put forward by Jennifer Gandhi, cooptation denotes that once a dictator feels threatened by the opposition that aims to overthrow him, he can establish institutions such as legislatures and invite the opposition to participate in governing the country through the legislature. Indeed, these institutions have to be stronger since otherwise the opposition may not agree to work through them and instead try to overthrow the dictator.

While these factors would suggest that when a dictator has to give up some control the legislatures also become stronger, there is a caveat to that. I find that before 1990 legislatures have often been used as ‘bargaining chips’ by dictators. It appears that it was a popular strategy to weaken legislatures whenever elections were reformed to be more open and competitive. In this way, dictators could afford to have less control over the elections, simply because the stakes, that is, the strength of the legislature, were lower.

After the Cold War, however, the nature of many authoritarian regimes has changed fundamentally. We are currently in the era of ‘competitive authoritarianism’ in which most authoritarian regimes have legislatures and allow some opposition parties to participate in elections. In this background, more competitive or liberalizing elements in the electoral and legislative processes are indeed associated with stronger legislatures after 1990. This is in line with recent research on legislatures in Africa that highlight that less dictatorial meddling in legislative processes is an important condition for legislative development. Legislative strength has not been a widely used concept regarding authoritarian legislatures. However, as we move to understand their roles in authoritarian governance in more depth, it may be useful to pursue more research investigating the effects of legislative strength. It helps us differentiate between ‘pure’ rubberstamps and those that are stronger vis-à-vis the dictator.

Felix Wiebrecht, PhD Candidate in the Department of Government and Public Administration at The Chinese University of Hong Kong, @FelixWiebrecht

Prof. Cristina Leston-Bandeira reflects on the different elements entailed within the concept of public engagement and why it is useful to think about it as a journey rather than as a linear succession of steps. 

I started writing this blog post about a year ago. But a little thing called ‘pandemic’ happened and I’ve been on catch-up mode ever since. Plus, I really don’t like writing, so although I’ve spoken about the public engagement journey many times and I even have a pretty graph for it (see below), actually writing it down just takes time for me. But here I am. Our International Parliament Engagement Network annual conference is taking place this Friday, which has finally prompted me into motion to fit this in somehow. If you’re into public engagement, read on; if not, then I’ve probably lost you by now in any case:).

This is a post about what public engagement entails – simply because it’s one of those terms so commonly used now, but with so many understandings. I identify some of its elements below, but also how they relate to each other; and why it seems more meaningful to talk of a journey of public engagement, than about a ladder of engagement. And that engagement is not participation – often these are used interchangeably.

My context of research is parliament, so I’m thinking specifically about public engagement with parliament. But actually the starting point of the reflection for this post is exactly that public engagement is not a political thing; if anything, it’s more of an education thing really – when all is said and done, it’s about empowering people in relation to their surroundings. Public engagement is regularly used as if there is a common understanding of what the thing entails; whilst simultaneously being used to refer to lots of different types of activities. It is also commonly assumed as a well-established concept regardless of culture, when many languages don’t actually have a term for public engagement (love Brazilians, in absence of the term in Portuguese, they’ve adopted the English one and there we have it, the birth of “engajamento”;)).

Despite its obvious connections with politics, public engagement has been a strong concept in other disciplines, namely in the arts and the sciences (e.g., Devonshire and Hathway 2014, Meehan 2012, Shein et al 2015). As politics, the sciences and the arts can be perceived as subjects for the elites, necessitating a pro-active approach to public engagement in order to make these more accessible to the general public. The very concept and practice of public engagement “is often credited as emerging from the sciences where, since the 1970s, there have been concerted attempts to nurture public understanding of science” (Sanders and Moles, p.24). The sciences’ focus on public understanding is such, that it constitutes a sub-discipline in itself, with its own journal and acronyms (Public Understanding of Science – PUS). In both the sciences and the arts, there is a core discussion around the extent to which disseminating information can be termed of public engagement, or if this requires a more active involvement from the public; something that chimes with many discussions I’ve been part of, within political engagement. The discussion is reflected in a move over the last decade from the PUS paradigm (Public Understanding of Science) to the PEST one (Public Engagement with Science and technology) (got to love the acronyms) (Davies 2013). In many ways, this reflects some of the tensions inherent to public engagement with parliament, and its multiplicities of expression.

Public engagement has also been approached, however, as a primarily participatory activity. This is clearly expressed in urban studies, where public engagement emerges as a way of involving the public in community matters (e.g. Arnstein 1969; Glass 1979). This literature may in fact not use the term of “public engagement” but more of “public (or citizen) participation”. The key driver here is about promoting communities that are planned and developed with a more inclusive involvement of all those affected. Naturally, here there has been a stronger focus on the mechanisms that may enable listening to people’s views and possibly integrating these into decision-making processes. But also within these studies there is a recognition of different elements of public engagement, from information to citizen control or representational input. In parallel of course the vast literature on democratic theory also has direct relevance to the understanding of public engagement, namely the scholarly contributions on participatory democracy (e.g. Pateman 1975) and the deliberative turn (e.g. Dryzek 2002).

The adoption of the concept of public engagement to political institutions draws from this wide range of contributions and, naturally, it reflects different types of activity. These may be more at the level of informing and educating the public about the institution’s role and activity, which may encapsulate mainly communication and publicising activities. It may however also refer to activities whereby the public has a say on a policy, or may even be co-producers of this policy. So, although they may translate into very different types of activities, they are all about public engagement.

In order to encapsulate this diversity, I’ve identified before five elements to public engagement with parliament:

• Information: citizens have access to information about parliament.
• Understanding: citizens engage with this information developing an understanding of the parliament (the understanding can be at its simplest form, such as recognising the difference between legislature and executive).
• Identification: citizens can see parliament’s relevance and are able to link parliamentary activity to their own lives and experiences.
• Participation: citizens feel compelled to participate in a parliamentary output to act on an area that matters to them.
• Intervention: citizens lead a participatory process and engage with parliamentarians in the discussion that contributes to a parliamentary decision.

Besides the types of elements, processes or activities that engagement entails, another common discussion is how they relate to each other and, specifically whether citizens need to be first informed and educated, to then be able to participate. It’s what’s often referred to as the ladder of engagement or the hierarchy of engagement. I prefer to speak of the journey of public engagement, as shown in the figure below:

The journey aims to (1) differentiate several elements of public engagement and (2) emphasise an inter-connectedness between these elements, rather than a path, hierarchy or linear relationship. In my original conceptualisation of public engagement, I spoke of steps – again following the idea of a ladder – but the more my research developed, the more I’ve spoken to participants involved in public engagement, the more I’ve become convinced of the non-linearity of these elements. Rather than talking about different steps and a linear relationship between different stages that people need to accomplish, I find it more useful to talk about a cycle (journey) with inter-connected elements of engagement, which do not always need to happen – different types of activity may refer to separate elements of the public engagement journey. Putting this into practice means that some people may decide to create a petition because they are really fed up with an issue; and not necessarily because they know how the political system works or because they woke up in the morning with a burning desire to participate. However, without the information and the understanding of the system, they’re unlikely to achieve a lot. Likewise, educating young people about parliament doesn’t mean they will eagerly start leading campaigns. The different elements of the journey are inter-connected and supplement each other.

So there you have it – not sure it was worth waiting a year to finish this, but here you are, some reflections on the different elements of public engagement; the need to speak of a journey and of inter-connected elements of engagement, rather than separating them out and focusing just on information, or just on participation, for instance; and to value how citizens process the information, how they reflect on it and how they act on it. And ultimately the fact that public engagement is not necessarily about politics; it’s about empowering people in relation to their surroundings.

This blog was kindly shared by the Centre for Democratic Engagement. See the original post here

Cristina Leston-Bandeira is Professor of Politics at the University of Leeds and Co-Director of the Centre for Democratic Engagement (tweets as @estrangeirada).