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Multilevel blame and credit games: How is the European Union held responsible for economic crises?

Agni Poullikka* examines the factors affecting how Members of Parliament (MPs) in Member States (MS) of the European Union (EU) engage in responsibility management for recent economic crises, focusing on the Eurozone crisis and the economic consequences of the coronavirus (COVID-19) pandemic. Drawing on the theoretical framework of blame and credit strategies, the author combines quantitative text analysis tools with hand coding to derive insights about attribution of responsibility to the EU.

Why should we care about this?

As a result of policy responses to recent crises, the scope and depth of policymaking at the EU level is increasing. Given the EU’s multilevel governance structure, responsibility for significant policy areas is fractured across different levels of governance and multiple institutions, with some of them being unelected. For instance, both national governments and the European Central Bank (ECB) are responsible for economic policymaking for Eurozone member countries. This can be problematic for the representative model of democracy, which posits that voters should be able to discern who are the decision-makers and then hold them accountable at the ballot box. Instead, the EU’s institutional complexity blurs the clarity of responsibility and creates incentives for elected actors, such as MPs, to obfuscate responsibility in relation to adverse situations. This is the research focus of this paper, which explores the factors affecting how MPs attribute responsibility to the EU for two recent economic crises; the Eurozone crisis (2008-2016) and the COVID-19 pandemic (2020-2022). 

What is responsibility management?

To address this question, this paper focuses on a specific type of political communication, namely strategic communication to engage in responsibility management. The umbrella term ‘responsibility management’ captures presentational behaviours that correspond to either a blame or a credit strategy. A blame strategy is the act of attributing responsibility for something considered bad to some person or entity, whilst a credit strategy is the act of accepting responsibility for something bad and attempting to present it in a positive light by turning blame into credit (Hood, 2011). 

I use this framework to inform my theoretical model, with the aim of deriving hypotheses about how institutional and preference-based factors affect the responsibility management of MPs and I aggregate the analysis to the party level. The underlying assumption is that when communicating about a negative situation, such as an economic crisis, MPs have a strategic motivation to maximise their gains at the next election. In other words, the way in which they attribute responsibility for the crisis is fuelled by their electoral incentives. These incentives can vary depending on a number of factors. This paper focuses on two. On the one hand, there are institutional factors such as Eurozone membership and whether there is a coalition or single-party government. 

On the other hand, preference-based factors include a party’s political ideology, its predisposition towards the EU and whether it is in government or in opposition. Considering a preference-based factor, the paper expects that government parties engage in more credit strategies compared to opposition parties, regardless of their predisposition towards the EU. One explanation for this could be that even if a government party were Eurosceptic, it would still be interested in portraying the EU in a positive light because the government is involved in decision-making at the EU level through its role at the European Council. 

How can we analyse responsibility management?

Given the theoretical focus on the political communication of MPs, the paper analyses textual data. The textual data consist of plenary session minutes of national parliaments in EU MS. For the Eurozone crisis, the countries covered are the following: Austria, Belgium, Czech Republic, Denmark, Germany, Greece, Ireland, Netherlands, Portugal, Sweden, Spain and the United Kingdom (UK). Given that the UK was an EU MS during the Eurozone crisis, it is included in the analysis. For the COVID-19 crisis, the countries are Belgium, Czech Republic, Spain, Denmark and Netherlands. This country selection allows for cross-national as well as cross-temporal comparisons between the two crises.

The methodological approach combines quantitative text analysis tools with hand coding. First, a subset of the data is created for one country, which includes only the time period of each crisis. Second, a dictionary of crisis-related terms is created and applied in order to select only the speeches that discuss the economic crisis. Third, the application of a regular expression dictionary of EU related terms selects sentences that refer to the EU (Rauh, 2015; Rauh and de Wilde, 2014; Hunter 2021). These sentences are more likely to include a responsibility attribution towards the EU. Fourth, a sentiment analysis is run, which can identify whether a sentence includes a blame (negative sentiment), or a credit strategy (positive sentiment). Fifth, hand coding is deployed to understand towards whom the negative or positive sentiment is directed. If that actor is EU-related, then the sentence is coded as an instance of blame or credit depending on the sentiment. This analysis is completed for all the countries in the dataset. Considered in tandem, the findings will explain how MPs assign responsibility to the EU and how institutional and preference-based factors affect this.

What are some findings about responsibility management?

To bring the discussion to life, Figures 1-3 present descriptive analyses about the responsibility management of the three main UK parties. The proportions correspond to the proportion of statements that were either a blame or a credit strategy directed towards the EU or towards the EU and other actors, out of the total statements that correspond to responsibility management. Whilst Labour was in government before 2010, the Conservatives were elected in power in 2010 and formed a coalition with the Liberal Democrats until 2015. After winning the 2015 elections, the Conservatives formed a single-party government.

Figure1 reveals the findings for Labour, a left-wing party with favourable predisposition towards the EU. When the Labour party was in government, their communication strategies were characterised by credit, whereas when they were in opposition they switched to more blame strategies. This could indicate that the government-opposition dynamic supersedes their affinity towards the EU. In other words, parties that support the EU might still opt for blame strategies in an attempt to scapegoat the EU and the incumbent government, thereby increasing their chances at the ballot box in the next election. 

Figure 1: Labour responsibility management (2008-2016)

Figure 2 demonstrates that overall the Conservatives, a right-wing party with Eurosceptic tendencies gave more blame rather than credit to the EU. Nevertheless, after coming to power in 2010, they increased their credit towards the EU compared to earlier years. This could confirm the expectation that when parties are in government they are more likely to credit the EU, regardless of their predisposition towards it. Lastly, Figure 3 looks at the Liberal Democrats, a liberal Europhile party. After becoming part of the governing coalition in 2010, they adopted an approach of neither blaming nor crediting the EU, as evidenced by the low values in Figure 3. This could be interpreted as an attempt of blame avoidance as they distance themselves from the topic and avoid discussing it in an emotive way. This strategy would enable them to neither compromise their preference towards the EU nor disappoint their coalition partners. 

Figure 2: Conservatives responsibility management (2008-2016)
Figure 3: Liberal Democrats responsibility management (2008-2016)

Concluding remarks 

This paper seeks to examine responsibility management for economic crises in the EU. The preliminary findings from the UK lend some support to the argument that parties blame and credit the EU with strategic considerations derived from institutional and preference-based factors in mind. The paper will proceed to explore these trends for other EU MS, with the aim of forming a comprehensive understanding of how MPs attribute responsibility to the EU for economic crises. In so doing, it can contribute to debates on the EU’s democratic accountability in policymaking and academic circles.

*Agni is a PhD Researcher at the Department of International Politics at City, University of London. Her research spans several topics in European political economy, focusing on economic crises and political communication. This blog post is based on a paper delivered at the PSA Parliaments Conference 2022.

References

Hood, C. (2011). The Blame Game: Spin, Bureaucracy and Self-preservation in Government. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.

Hunter, T. (2021). Home Style: Governments, Parties, and the Domestic Presentation of European Integration. PhD Dissertation for the London School of Economics European Institute.

Rauh, C. and De Wilde, P. (2018). The Opposition Deficit in EU Accountability: Evidence from over 20 Years of Plenary Debate in Four Member States. European Journal of Political Research, 57(01), 194-216.

Rauh, C. (2015). Communicating Supranational Governance? The Salience of EU Affairs in the German Bundestag, 1991–2013. European Union Politics, 16(01), 116–138.

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How did the Prime Minister win a vote in Parliament and lose her authority?

It is remarkable that after a series of U-turns on key policy announcements and the resignation of two senior members of her Cabinet, the event which may well have precipitated the Prime Minister’s resignation was a parliamentary vote on an opposition motion which the Government actually won.

To be sure, many would argue that the Prime Minister’s position was already untenable before Wednesday evening but any hopes of retaining office went downhill quickly following the chaotic mismanagement of a vote on a Labour motion on fracking. While the Labour Party may take some pleasure in contributing to PM’s downfall, much of the damage was self-inflicted.

What is an opposition day debate?

Wednesday was one of twenty afternoons set aside in each parliamentary session to debate issues raised by opposition parties. Although so-called opposition days allow the opposition to set the agenda, they rarely cause serious difficulties for a government which can command a majority in the House of Commons. A government with a majority can usually be assured of defeating an opposition motion. Moreover, even if the government loses a vote on an opposition day motion, in most cases these are not considered to be binding and the government is not obliged to make any changes in response. Consequently, government’s may even choose to ignore an opposition motion entirely and not bother voting at all. Opposition days do provide an important opportunity for opposition parties to raise issues of concern and possibly to embarrass the government by forcing its MPs to vote against something which may be popular, such as extending free school meals, but can’t generally be used to force the government to take action.

Labour’s motion on fracking was slightly different in that it included a clause which would set aside the standing orders of the House of Commons, which state that the government has control over parliamentary business. The motion then allowed for the opposition to take control of the parliamentary order paper at a later date (29th November) in order to bring forward a bill which would ban the use of fracking in the UK. This was an unusual tactic but reflects a similar episode during the Brexit debates in 2019, when a group of MPs took control of the parliamentary agenda in order to bring forward a bill to prevent a no-deal Brexit.

This was an interesting tactic by Labour, facilitating a parliamentary vote on the standing orders which can be changed by a vote in the House, rather than seeking to press the government to take action without any real power to compel it to do so. As a result, the opposition sought to turn a non-binding opposition motion into a resolution with real effects. This meant the government could not afford simply to ignore the opposition motion and cede control of the legislative agenda to Labour.

Moreover, Labour’s decision to focus on fracking was also key. The Prime Minister had proposed lifting the ban on fracking, but this is an issue on which Conservative MPs are divided. Not only was a moratorium on fracking included in the party’s 2019 manifesto, but several Conservative MPs  represent constituencies where plans for fracking have been subject to considerable local opposition. In short Labour sought to force Conservative MPs to vote against a key manifesto pledge and in favour of something which many of them oppose. By combining this with an attempt to take control of the parliamentary agenda, Labour effectively forced the government into a position in which it felt the need to whip its MPs to vote against the motion.

Three-line whips and confidence motions

While Labour might be seen to have laid a trap for the government, the chaos which followed was largely self-inflicted. The Conservative response was to issue a three-line whip, effectively compelling Conservative MPs to vote against the opposition motion or be subject to disciplinary action. Given the size of the government’s majority this should have been enough to defeat the motion. It is possible that several Conservative MPs would have abstained, some may even have decided to vote for the Labour motion, although this seems unlikely. Although this is a serious disciplinary matter, as several commentators have since observed, the penalty for abstaining on a three-line whip is unlikely to have extended to having the whip withdrawn and, if the MPs in question had particular constituency concerns, the government would usually have been sympathetic to their predicament.

However, at some point on Wednesday, the Government decided to make this a confidence motion, implying that if the government was defeated it would be forced to resign and call a general election. Although set piece votes, such as those on the Queen’s speech or the budget are generally considered to be confidence issues which the government must win, the government can declare any vote a matter of confidence. It was, however, a considerable escalation of the stakes to make a vote on an opposition motion on such a divisive issue a confidence vote.

Ironically opposition days can be used to table motions of no confidence in the government and unlike most opposition day motions these are considered binding. Given the difficulties facing the Truss government Labour may well have considered this, but perhaps dismissed the idea on the grounds that a confidence motion was more likely to unite Conservative MPs around their leader. By choosing to turn a vote on which its MPs are divided into a confidence vote, the Conservative leadership, however, managed to create a level of disruption which the Labour opposition could not hope to have achieved simply by tabling a confidence motion. MPs who might reasonably be allowed to quietly abstain on an issue which was particularly sensitive in their constituencies, were now being asked to put their own re-election chances on the line to prop up the Prime Minister.

It is not clear why the government chose to do this. One must assume that Conservative whips felt that a three-line whip was not enough to ensure victory and there was a real danger that Labour would win the vote. It is also worth considering the wider implications of a Labour victory. If Labour had been successful in seizing the agenda and bringing forward its own legislation on this issue, it might well have repeated the trick on subsequent opposition days, significantly disrupting the government’s own legislative agenda.

It’s hard to know what intelligence Conservative whips had about the scale of the potential backbench rebellion on the Labour motion but there is very little evidence that a sizeable and damaging rebellion was impending. On Wednesday afternoon less than a handful of Conservative MPs publicly stated that they could not vote with the government on this motion, and most of the dismay on Conservative benches revolved around the fact that the government had chosen to make this a confidence issue.

Confusion in the chamber and in scuffles in the lobby

The government’s problems were compounded by the handling of the issue as the day progressed. Having decided to make this already divisive issue the one on which the Truss government would survive or fall, someone in number 10 got cold feet and decided not to risk it. The minister closing the debate at the despatch box, Graham Stuart, dismayed the House by stating that ‘quite clearly, this is not a confidence vote’, repeating ‘obviously this is not a confidence vote’. Stuart was asked to clarify this by the Conservative MP, Ruth Edwards, who stated ‘many of us have been told today by our Whips that if we vote for, or abstain from voting against, this motion, we will lose the Whip.’ His response, ‘that is a matter for party managers, and I am not a party manager’ was hardly a lesson in clarity.

The effect of this was twofold. There was clearly some confusion as to whether this was a confidence issue. Stuart’s initial statement that it was not a confidence issue was arguably clear, but his follow up did little to settle the matter, particularly for MPs who had been told all day by the whips, presumably in the most robust terms, that they must vote with the government to prevent a general election. Secondly, it is apparent that this last-minute change had not been communicated to the whips, effectively undermining their authority. As Conservative MPs made their way into the division lobbies there were reports that the chief whip and the deputy chief whip had both resigned, and for several hours afterwards the government was unable to confirm if either were still in place.

There were also reports of an unseemly row between Conservative MPs in the division lobby. A groups of Conservative MPs, including cabinet members, were accused of physically manhandling at least one reluctant Conservative MP into the lobby in support of the government, prompting the speaker to launch an investigation into bullying.

To compound the confusion, in the commotion in the division lobbies it is apparent that several MPs failed to record their vote using the electronic card readers when entering the lobbies. For a time it appeared that the Conservative rebellion was even greater than it eventually proved to be, and perhaps most remarkably, that the Prime Minister had not voted.

In the end the Conservatives won the vote with some ease. The Labour motion was defeated, it was later announced that the whips had not resigned, and the record was corrected to show that the Prime Minister had voted with most of the rest of her party. Thirty-two Conservative MPs abstained, although some of these will have had permission to miss the vote and will presumably have been paired with an opposition MP who was also missing.  In a bizarre coda at 1.30 in the morning Downing Street issued a statement that although the vote had not been a confidence issue, it had still been a three-line whip and those who did not have a reasonable excuse for their absence would face ‘proportionate disciplinary action.’ It is not clear if this process had begun by the time the Prime Minister resigned twelve hours later.

With its fracking motion Labour presented the government with a knotty problem, which certainly required careful handling. Instead, the government contrived to alienate its own embattled backbenchers by selecting the nuclear option and making it a confidence vote. It then further alienated them by changing its position only minutes before the vote took place. The melee in the division lobby only added to the sense of confusion and lack of control at the heart of government. That the government won the vote is largely irrelevant, as in the process it lost what remaining credibility it had amongst its own MPs. The episode is a remarkable example of the importance of party management in the House of Commons and that opposition parties do not necessarily need to win a parliamentary vote in order to undermine the government.

Dr Andrew Defty, Associate Professor of Politics at the University of Lincoln 

This post was originally published on the Who Runs Britain Blog and can be found here: https://whorunsbritain.blogs.lincoln.ac.uk/2022/10/21/how-did-the-prime-minister-win-a-vote-in-parliament-and-lose-her-authority/

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The Black Box of Authoritarian Legislatures

Almost every country in the world has a legislature. They are at the centre of democratic politics, but also take on crucial roles in authoritarian regimes. Felix Wiebrecht illustrates how a multidimensional approach helps us to understand their role in dictatorships and paves the way for more research

Authoritarian legislatures matter

Hager Ali notes that we need better typologies of authoritarian regimes. The same applies to their legislatures. They can differ from each other as much as from their democratic counterparts, despite earlier research describing them as nothing but ‘window-dressing’ or rubberstamp institutions.

But even under authoritarianism, legislatures matter. This is increasingly accepted in comparative politics, but research still struggles to identify why exactly that is the case. In authoritarian regimes, legislatures have, for instance, been credited with important roles in co-optation, power-sharing, and the collection of information. However, as scholars of authoritarianism, we seem to emphasise one task over another without linking these features into a unified framework of authoritarian legislatures.

Legislatures are multi-dimensional

Recent research has taken a step toward advancing our understanding of authoritarian legislatures by comparing their strengths across regimes. While some authoritarian legislatures are correctly described as mere democratic façade, others have a much more significant impact on authoritarian politics.

Yet legislative strength is often primarily used to refer to parliaments’ relationship with the executive, i.e., the dictators. While this may be the most important dimension, it is only one of several. Therefore, a more disaggregated approach may prove useful in understanding their role and consequences in authoritarian regimes.

Like any legislature, authoritarian legislatures fulfil several functions simultaneously, including co-opting outsiders, legitimation, and providing a forum for elite bargaining

In fact, legislatures always perform multiple tasks at once. While the name suggests that law-making is legislatures’ primary task, even in democracies, they fulfil several functions simultaneously. These may also include linkage, representation, authorisation, and legitimation.

The same applies to authoritarian legislatures. They co-opt regime outsiders, legitimate the regime, and provide a forum for elite bargaining, all at the same time. Figure 1 shows how we can conceptualise legislatures’ tasks under authoritarianism.

Figure 1: Dimensions of authoritarian legislatures’ tasks

Figure 1: Dimensions of Authoritarian Legislatures’ Tasks

A matter of degree

The question then is not whether a legislature in any given regime performs these functions. Most legislatures in authoritarian regimes will perform all six tasks at least to some degree. For instance, even the Cortes in Spain under Franco engaged in lawmaking. The Vietnamese National Assembly, although primarily focused on portraying regime unity, also co-opts a small number of non-Party members. Instead, the question is to what degree authoritarian legislatures engage in these activities.

While China’s National People’s Congress has little ability to constrain party and government leaders, it fulfils several other functions, which can each be compared with other legislatures

Consider the example of China’s National People’s Congress (NPC). The NPC hardly constrains party and government leaders. However, we have evidence that behind the scenes, bargaining between elites and different government agencies is relatively common. Yet, as in Vietnam, it allows the maintenance of an appearance of strength and elite unity toward the public.

Since the NPC only accommodates a limited number of delegates that are not members of the Chinese Communist Party (CCP), its potential for co-optation is limited. On the other hand, its delegates have been shown to transmit important information upward.

Based on this previous research from the context of China, I invite scholars and practitioners to think of the NPC according to Figure 2. It shows that the NPC can fulfill different functions simultaneously but to varying degrees. Legislatures in communist regimes, for instance, send a stronger signal of elite unity to citizens. Meanwhile, in competitive regimes, they may actually be used as a scapegoat to improve the public perception of dictators.

Figure 2: dimensions of the Chinese National People’s Congress’ tasks

Figure 2: Dimensions of the Chinese National People’s Congress’ Tasks

The NPC’s impact on policymaking may, in comparison to other legislatures, still be limited. Nevertheless, it should be stronger than legislatures’ influence in places such as the Middle East.

Since research on China’s NPC is relatively advanced, it is possible to produce the hexagon on the basis of existing studies. Other regimes, however, lack comprehensive studies on legislatures which makes it difficult to conceptualise them in the same way.

Inner workings

To generate a more nuanced typology of authoritarian legislatures, we need more research on their effects and inner workings in different regimes. Recent studies have paved the way for emerging research agendas, for instance on understanding legislators’ backgrounds, the work of committees in developing countries, and legislative amendments. Advancing along these lines will help us to move beyond current debates on authoritarian parliaments.

As almost every country has a legislature, it makes little sense to debate if they matter or not. Instead, we should ask ourselves more specifically where, when, for what, and for whom legislatures in authoritarian regimes matter.

We must move beyond asking whether a legislature exists to ask where, when, for what, and for whom legislatures in authoritarian regimes matter

Empirically, this also entails moving beyond treating the mere existence of a legislature as an indicator of anything. A legislature may or may not be constraining the executive. It may or may not be active in lawmaking. And so forth.

Future research should therefore also strive for more comprehensive data collection efforts concerning legislatures in authoritarian regimes. Geddes, Wright, and Frantz, for instance, only include a question on whether the legislature houses an opposition in their dataset. This can give us an idea about parliaments’ potential for co-optation but is not enough when studying legislatures.

Comparison and context

While it may be challenging to collect more comparative data across parliaments, such efforts will be extremely rewarding. Understanding the extent to which they perform all functions mentioned above goes beyond the mere study of legislatures. It will also shed light more generally on issues of elite politics, redistribution as well as political economy, and regime stability in authoritarian regimes.

By Felix Wiebrecht

Postdoctoral Research Fellow, V-Dem Institute, University of Gothenburg

Felix’s research focuses on authoritarian legislatures and elite politics, both globally and sometimes on China specifically.

His work has featured in Democratization, Policy & Politics, and the  Journal of East Asian Studies.

Felix is also the Co-Organiser of the Authoritarian Political Systems Group.

felixwiebrecht.com

He tweets @FelixWiebrecht

This post was originally published in The Loop. The original piece is available here: https://theloop.ecpr.eu/the-black-box-of-authoritarian-legislatures/

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Keeping an eye on the money we don’t have. Parliament’s oversight role on public debt 

Always be prepared for the next crisis. It seems that public debt spiraling out of control is on track to becoming the next global crisis.

Did you know that twenty-five of the poorest countries currently spend more on debt repayments than on education, health and social policy combined? Sixty percent of low- and middle-income developing countries are highly debt vulnerable. Public debt is currently at the highest level globally in over fifty years and triple its 2008 level. National economies might collapse, as we have seen recently in Sri Lanka. 

The origins of this situation are, among others, the COVID-19 crisis and its economic and financial impact, and debt management practices which might not have been very prudent.

But it is not all doom and gloom. There are ways to conduct public debt management in a responsible and accountable way. While public debt has traditionally been managed by the Ministry of Finance and executive agencies, there is increasing recognition of the unique roles for parliament in the governance of public debt. The role of parliaments is to ask questions, to scrutinize, to provide quality assurance of the process, and to ask what the priorities are. Parliaments are increasingly taking on this challenge, as we have seen in – for instance – Kenya, Zambia, Georgia, the Maldives, and the Caribbean.

In its submission to the UK House of Common’s International Development Committee’s inquiry, Westminster Foundation for Democracy (WFD) suggested that the UK’s international development policies can be strengthened by including a public debt accountability lens through an enhanced role for parliaments in oversight of public debt. There are six incentives as to why national parliaments in partner countries can play a more active legislative and oversight role with regards to public debt:

  1. It serves as a catalyst for greater debt transparency.
  2. It helps to establish and implement a stronger legal framework on public debt management.
  3. It strengthens oversight over government policies and spending.
  4. It protects the national interest in emergency contexts and highlights the gendered effects of public debt.
  5. It unearths the risks of State-Owned Enterprises becoming a major cause of debt accumulation and debt crises.
  6. It contributes to deliver the requirements of successful Nature-for-Debt swaps, hence contributing to action on climate change mitigation and adaptation, for which these countries are otherwise receiving insufficient multilateral support, and to climate change finance accountability.

These six arguments for parliamentary involvement in public debt management should incentivise the UK and others making parliamentary oversight on public debt management one of the criteria for their debt relief schemes. Strengthening the governance and domestic accountability in debt relief schemes will contribute to prudent debt management and more sustainable economies.

However, based on our interaction with a range of parliaments globally, there are three main challenges. Firstly, parliaments might struggle with the technical nature of public debt questions. MPs and parliamentary staff might feel weary and intimidated about the complexity of the subject matter. Secondly, parliaments often do not have access to the relevant data to exercise oversight on public debt as the documentation is not shared by the executive. Fortypercent of low-income developing countries have never published public debt data or have not updated information in the past couple of years, and lenders such as China apply strict nondisclosure clauses. So, there is a need to bridge the information disconnect between the executive and the legislature. Thirdly, private sector lending has increased sharply in recent years, accounting for nearly 20% of loans to east and southern Africa. Often sold on to other private companies, including hedge funds and vulture funds, private lending is notoriously opaque as revealed by scandals in countries ranging from Mozambique to Malaysia.

To assist parliaments in facing these challenges, WFD is rolling out targeted support to parliaments through pilot assessments in public debt oversight, tailor-made learning and knowledge building, and parliamentary assistance programmes. Together with the National Democratic Institute (NDI), WFD recently published four new policy briefs. The briefs explain that, while most countries do have a financial administration act, far fewer countries have specific public debt legislation in place. Setting a legal framework for public debt management is one of parliament’s key tasks. The briefs outline best practices in the implementation and monitoring of a legal debt framework and the ratification of loan agreements. Beyond parliament’s legislative role, the briefs also cover parliament’s oversight role of public debt, and oversight over public debt in emergency contexts. The way how public debt was managed during the COVID-19 crisis has informed the brief on emergency context, though it is applicable to other potential future emergencies as well.

In addition, WFD developed a baseline assessment methodology on parliaments and public debt oversight and an e-course for parliamentarians, parliamentary staff, civil society and those engaged in public financial management. The e-course explores the concepts, mechanisms and risks which impact public debt management, and brings together expert contributors, country examples and interactive exercises.

In conclusion, it is worth mentioning that parliament’s capacity to oversee public debt management is very much linked to the depth of parliamentary scrutiny throughout the budget cycle, the resources available to committees, parliament’s oversight practices in general, and its ability to work collaboratively with civil society to enhance the political space to upscale transparency. 

Solid and accountable public debt management is not only the task of the government borrowing money. It is also a responsibility of the lenders — lending countries and lending international institutions — to ensure due diligence of the viability of the economic projects and of the rationale underpinning borrowing requests. Hence, the current initiative of revitalizing the UNCTAD principles on the promotion of sovereign lending and borrowing cannot be timelier and will hopefully contribute to avoiding a next global crisis of public debt spiraling out of control.

Franklin De Vrieze,
Head of Practice Accountability, Westminster Foundation for Democracy.

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The Butterfly Effect: Representation as Fractal Politics

What does a coastline have in common with effective rhetoric? Each component resembles something bigger, and bigger, and bigger. And what can this sort of fractal pattern show us about politics? To Alex Prior, fractals illustrate successful representation, and the impulses that drive it

‘As above, so below’

In launching the ‘Science of Democracy’ blog series, Jean-Paul Gagnon argues that democracy’s words require a new narrative. Agustín Goenaga credits Gagnon with a ‘living archive’ of stories. As I have argued previously, the best way of understanding narratives and stories – and their importance to democracy – is through their fractal nature.

Fractals are patterns; we see them constantly. They are in trees, lightning, coastlines. If you zoom in on any of those images, they still resemble themselves. This is self-similarity, a defining characteristic of fractals.

Self-similarity is a defining characteristic of fractals and of representation, which makes present what is not physically there

It is also a characteristic of representation (in its many forms): ‘making something present’, typically by acting on something or someone’s behalf. The notion that we can make present what is not physically there (a constituency, an idea, or anything else) is central to my research on parliamentary systems. Such systems depend on representatives making others’ voices and values present.

Fractal politics?

Self-similarity – and recursion (the repetition of a structure with continual reference, at each stage, to the structure itself) – is applicable to politics in many ways. For example, some advocate ‘fractal democracy’ as a practical model of governance. Says Jasper Sky: ‘Groups of seven people each choose one representative, and those seven representatives then meet to choose a representative, and so on, up several levels of representation…[with] the person at the top of the fractal hierarchy to be held fully accountable at every level.’

Fractals also give us a conceptual framework for politics. ‘Fractal politics’, writes Gordon Fletcher, ‘reflects the sociological sensibility that people seek out self-similarity in the form of opinions and worldviews that align with their own identity’. Fractals can help us understand not only political communication and support, but the ways in which we interact with our own social reality.

But how can we study (or even conceptualise) these opinions and those who ‘make’ them? And what does it really mean to seek out self-similarity (i.e., to seek ourselves) in the opinions and worldviews of others? The answer to both questions lies in representation.

A fractal reading of representation

Fractals can be read into theoretical works on representation, such as those of Derrida, who contends that ‘[e]verything begins by referring back (par le renvoi), that is to say, does not begin’. Derrida’s description centres around self-similarity and recursion (‘referring back’), as well as infinite replicability (‘does not begin’).

So far, so fractal. But fractals are even more relevant to contemporary representation theory. Saward’s theory of the representative claim identifies how ‘[m]akers of representative claims suggest to the potential audience: (1) you are/are part of this audience, (2) you should accept this view, this construction — this representation — of yourself, and (3) you should accept me as speaking and acting for you.’

Representation is a ‘claim’ made to an audience about the maker of the claim (a politician, for example), about what they ‘stand for’, and about that audience

Saward shows us how representation works. It is a ‘claim’ (or a series of claims) made to an audience about the maker of the claim (a politician, for example), about what they ‘stand for’, and about that audience.

A representative claim can be made at different scales (e.g., to a person, a group, a region), sometimes simultaneously. It is also accepted or rejected (i.e., interpreted) by audiences at many different scales (e.g., myself as an individual, as a citizen, as a person, etc). Fractals are invaluable in helping to conceptualise the way that representative claims in politics and beyond connect (or fail to connect) with their audience.

Effective (and ineffective) representative claims, in fractals

Consider Obama’s effective ‘yes we can’ 2008 slogan. People saw themselves within this slogan, at many (potentially infinite) scales:

Figure 1: An effective representative claim

Representative claim 'Yes we can' mapped out down to a fractal level, in a triangle figure

The left image resembles the right image at every scale. Effective representative claims resemble the audience at every level; audience members identify themselves within (with/in) the claim. We thereby read effective representative claims as successful appeals to self-similarity.

This process is not always successful. On 4 June 1958, against the backdrop of the Algerian War of Independence and the collapse of the Fourth Republic, Charles De Gaulle arrived in Algiers and uttered the famous words Je vous ai compris! [I understood you!]. To this day it is unclear who De Gaulle was addressing: Algerians? French Algeria? Colonists? The military?

Figure 2: An ineffective representative claim

Representative claim 'I understood you' mapped as a square figure, that is not fractal

The failure of this representative claim lies in a failed appeal to self-similarity. It failed to reflect (or even define) an audience at any scale.

Self-similarity matters for the maker of the representative claim, not just the audience. Obama included himself (‘we’) in a claim of common purpose, with/in which the audience recognised themselves. De Gaulle’s claim (‘I understood you’) lacks self-similarity. Audience members were left wondering who ‘they’ were, who De Gaulle was, and who/what he ‘stood for’.

Why fractals matter

The mathematician Edward Norton Lorenz is closely associated with chaos theory and the ‘butterfly effect’, by which small initial variations eventually yield drastic outcomes. For example – a person writes a short essay in Canberra; later, I see a broad and rich international academic debate. Fractals are a component of chaos, and a means of visualising it.

Studying representation in action (via fractals) clarifies the appeal of self-similarity, and why some statements are all-encompassing in their alienation

They also provide a means of studying narratives and stories within a ‘science of democracy’. Moreover, studying representation in action (via fractals) clarifies the appeal of self-similarity. We seek patterns, and we seek ourselves. This matters in terms of content and context. Alongside the political statements and patterns discussed earlier, consider that Obama reflected an audience (‘we’) descriptively and symbolically, in a way that De Gaulle could not, and arguably never claimed to (‘I…you’).

Fractals show us how ambiguous (but ostensibly all-encompassing) political and other statements are, in practice. They are all-encompassing only inasmuch as they alienate everyone at the same time. This mattered in 1958, it mattered in 2008, and it matters today.

By Alex Prior, Lecturer in Politics with International Relations, London South Bank University

Alex’s research focuses on public engagement with parliaments and other political institutions. His work also discusses the usefulness of narratives and storytelling in conceptualising, as well as strengthening, political engagement. He tweets @VoterEngagement

This post was originally posted on The Loop blog. See the original post here: https://theloop.ecpr.eu/the-butterfly-effect-representation-as-fractal-politics/

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Breaking the Glass Chamber: Women, Politics and Parliament, 1945-1997

By Anna Muggeridge

Throughout the second half of the twentieth century, women struggled to achieve political representation at the highest levels and at times, what progress and gains had been made could be lost. The number of women sitting in the House of Commons at any one time, for example, did not slowly but steadily increase. Fewer women were elected in the general election of 1951 than had been elected in 1950; fewer in 1966 than in 1964, and fewer in 1979 than (October) 1974. 1979 famously saw the first woman Prime Minister, but Margaret Thatcher’s relationship with feminism and the wider women’s movement is but one contentious aspect of her premiership. Notably, Thatcher only appointed one woman to a Cabinet position (Baroness Young, who served for just two years) and when Thatcher herself resigned and was replaced by John Major, the country had no women in Cabinet until 1992, when Gillian Shephard and Virginia Bottomley were appointed Education and Health Secretaries respectively. The first Black woman MP, Diane Abbott, was not elected until 1987, almost seven decades after the first white woman, Nancy Astor, took her seat in 1919. And in 1997, Labour’s landslide victory saw more than 100 women elected but this achievement was diminished and trivialised by labelling them ‘Blair’s Babes’. The story of women parliamentarians, and indeed women’s wider engagement with politics, through these years is therefore more nuanced and complex than an initial glance might suggest, and there is still much to be discovered about their experiences.

In September, the Mile End Institute at Queen Mary, University of London, will host a conference which seeks to bring together historians, political scientists, and sociologists to generate new conversations, relationships, and understandings of what politics meant to and for women in the second half of the twentieth century. In addition, the conference will play host to a number of current and former female members of both the House of Commons and the House of Lords, who will reflect on their own experiences, including Baroness Angela Browning, Dame Margaret Hodge, Baroness Estelle Morris, Baroness Emma Nicholson, Baroness Dawn Primarolo, Baroness Gillian Shephard, and Siân James. We will also hear from campaign groups including 50:50 Parliament and the Fawcett Society, who will lead discussions about the future of women in politics. Keynote lectures by historians, sociologists and political scientists – including Professor Laura Beers, Professor Julie Gottleib, Professor Khursheed Wadia, Professor Clarisse Berthèzene, and Professor Sarah Childs, will enable scholars to reflect on the different insights and perspectives from cutting edge research on women in political campaigns, parties and institutions.

It is only by drawing together those working in a range of disciplines, as well as those with direct experience of working in and with parliament, that a true picture of women’s experiences in politics in this period will start to emerge. More significantly, the conference offers the opportunity to develop new directions in research into women’s politics in the later twentieth century, shaping the questions and lines of enquiry of current and future researchers into this relatively understudied area of British political history.

Papers at the conference will address a variety of local, national and international themes. With talks by, for instance, Micaela Panes on women’s activism in South Wales before the 1970s; Tom Chidwick on women’s role in the campaign for a Scottish Assembly, and Charitini Ntini on women’s in the Provisional IRA during the Troubles in Northern Ireland, we ask how far national identities impacted on gendered politics in this period. Other papers explore women’s experiences on the international stage, something which has often been overlooked, such as Richard Johnson’s examination of women and Euroscepticism or Charlotte Lydia Riley’s analysis of women and British overseas development policy.

A number of talks will explore the experiences of women from minoritized backgrounds in this period. Farah Hussain’s timely keynote invites us to consider the role Muslim women play and have played within the Labour party. Beckie Rutherford asks how disabled women conceived of themselves as ‘political’, while Ashlee Christofferson will address the whiteness of ‘sex discrimination’ legislation. While there may, broadly speaking, have been progress in terms of the number of women sitting in Parliament between 1945 and 1997, there is still much opportunity to reflect on how other aspects of individuals’ identities—their race, class, sexuality or religion, for example—intersected with their gender within and outside the House of Commons.

Indeed, many of the papers at the conference will address campaigns which did not (necessarily) take place within parliament, such as Rose Debenham’s talk on the women of Greenham Common; Frances Galt’s research into women’s industrial disputes around the time of the 1970 Equal Pay Act, or Grace Heaton’s analysis of women’s roles in the campaign for the ordination of women. At the same time, other papers will consider how structures, institutions and cultures worked to exclude women: and how women sought to break down these barriers: with Emma Lundin providing a comparative perspective on gender quotas and gatekeeping strategies and Gillian Murphy reflecting on the post-war lobbying group Women for Westminster.

The conference therefore offers a unique opportunity for academics, politicians, policymakers and campaigners to come together to discuss the female political experience in the second half of the twentieth century, and, in so doing, open up new directions for current and future research. We very much hope that you will join us at the Mile End Institute at Queen Mary, University of London from Thursday 15 to Saturday 17 September. Details of how to watch the main sessions if you are not able to attend in person will be available nearer the time. You can view the full programme and sign up for tickets at the MEI website.

Dr Anna Muggeridge is Lecturer in History at the University of Worcester and a Visiting Research Fellow at the Mile End Institute.

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Reflections from Shenzhen – understanding Westminster select committees 

By Winnie Zhou

This year, the SCIE Politics Club organized multiple events on the topic of UK select committees. We’ve witnessed many meaningful debates and thoughts coming out during the process. 

At the start of the term, the Head of Humanities and Social Sciences faculty and founder of SCIE’s Politics club, Mr. Richard Driscoll introduced us to the basics of the select committee. To better answer our questions on how the select committee works in real life, Mr. Richard led us through a recent report published by the Health and Social Care and Science and Technology Committees, a select committee in the House of Commons[1]. It concluded the UK’s major lessons from Covid 19 regarding public health management by analyzing six critical areas of responses: preparedness, non-pharmaceutical intervention; social care; impact on different communities, and vaccines distribution. Within each section, specific statistics and quotations of experts are referenced. 

We further discussed the comprehensiveness of the report by reading it in detail. A problem identified in the report was the lack of resources in the NHS. The Royal College of Midwives reported that “NHS was short of over 3,000 midwives and that 40% of RCM members worked three or more hours of unpaid overtime every week, suggesting that the NHS had been ‘reliant upon the goodwill of those who staff the system.'”,[2] the specific data of which provides convincing evidence of the credibility and accuracy of the report. However, the solution explicitly given to this problem, “the experience of the demands placed on the NHS during the covid-19 pandemic should lead to a more explicit, and monitored, surge capacity being part of the long term organization and funding of the NHS”[3], seems vague and unpromising. We are concerned that an unclear short-term and long-term target may be hard to follow up. 

On January 6th, 2022, our school invited Dr. Alexandra Meakin from the University of Leeds to lecture on the select committee system in depth. A majority of our Politics Club members appreciated this opportunity and joined the event passionately. Dr Meakin showed us a detailed understanding of the working mechanism of the select committee and its composition. The lecture taught us that the select committee, usually a permanent division representing the public to examine and make recommendations to governmental policy, consists of MPs elected in the secret ballot. It conducts pre-appointed hearings with experts, goes through the written evidence submitted by experts, and ultimately forms reports to the government. 

Most interestingly, she listed some common arguments about the strengths and weaknesses of the select committee, which inspires interesting thoughts in us. For example, statistics show that the select committee’s suggestions are relatively practical, among which the executives implement over 40% of recommendations. This helps improve policymaking a lot. Also, she explained the advantages of its membership which reflects the composition of parties in the Commons. Hence, a report representing a cross-party consensus would more forcefully influence the House of Commons. 

However, she also admitted some flaws in the select committee. The cross-party composition may make the select committee less effective in giving a thorough recommendation, as reaching consensus may sacrifice some detailed plans. MPs are also busy with businesses outside the select committee, so they may not devote sufficient time to drafting a comprehensive report. Compared with the Commons in general, the select committee usually does poorly in terms of diversity. Most detrimentally, the select committee lacks formal power. They can not directly implement but merely suggest policies to the government. Nor does the committee have any mechanism to follow up the changes in governmental policies. That’s why around 60% of the recommendation provided by the committee cannot be implemented as expected. 

Dr. Alexandra Meakin’s lecture inspires interesting thoughts among our club members. We actively participated in the Q&A session to discuss further the role of the select committee. One of our members asked about how the committee balances between the power constraint on the Chair, and the consistency of the policy recommendation or the committee’s expertise. To further explain, the student considered that giving the Chair a relatively huge power to control the committee’s agenda may be a prerequisite for systematic policy recommendation over time, yet this may allow the power of the Chair to grow uncontrollably – a threat to the democracy. Dr. Meakin agreed that this conflict constitutes the core conflict within the select committee. Based on her expert knowledge, she concluded that, in practice, different chairs solve this problem with their approach. Some may lean towards reaching a consensus in the committee at the sacrifice of effectiveness, while others may take a more rigid grip to reinforce their ideas. This would also have something to do with the composition of the committee. The extent of party politics in the committee may be a crucial factor determining how fiercely effectiveness collides with consensus. 

Inspired by Dr. Meakin’s answer, another club member added a follow-up question. Because the composition of the committee reflects the composition of the Commons, the club member was wondering whether this membership benefits the majority party, and if so, to what extent the committee can still achieve its goal of supervising the government, especially over some fields at the core of party struggle. Dr. Meakin admitted the composition does somehow formally benefit the majority party while offering some counter-arguments for us to think about. For example, the backbench MPs don’t necessarily agree with the governmental policies, if not critical of it, thus are still likely to provide insightful recommendations. Also, being in the same party with the government, the MPs from the majority party are more incentivized to give constructive criticism for the governmental policies, as improving the government’s performance yields benefit in the elections. Yet, it’s correct to question the extent of criticism the committee can give. With the harsh party whip, a select committee with a majority of MPs from the majority party is unlikely to provide criticisms at the risk of infringing the government’s fundamental interests. In response, one student added another question: the select committee supervises the government, then what institution is responsible for overseeing the select committee? Dr. Meakin’s answer of “the Parliament” also led us to think about democracy in the UK. The lack of the absolute doctrine of separation of power in the UK political system may indicate the impossibility of strict supervision over the majority party’s power. 

In addition to theoretical analysis, we have seen other interesting practical questions. One student extended our previous club activity to discuss the effectiveness of policy during the Covid and how the select committee may help improve that. Another student also asked about how the lesson from the select committee may improve our work at the student council. Dr. Meakin shared constructive suggestions for us from her years of experience working for a select committees. The event ultimately concluded with our heated discussion and abundant new knowledge in our heads. 

With continued interest in the topic, we plan to organize a Mock Education Select Committee at the Humanities and Social Sciences week at our school, on the subject of “cap on the number of international students admitted in the UK universities,” a relevant topic to us all. Members from our Political Club will represent the 11 MPs in the committee, while four competitors outside of the club will act as four experts to provide written evidence and go through a hearing process. We hope that this event can boost students’ interest in political affairs and encourage critical thinking throughout the process. 

Author Details

Winnie Zhou is 18 years old and is a student at Shenzhen College of International Education (SCIE).

[1] Health and Social Care, and Science and Technology Committees, House of Commons. “Coronavirus: lessons learned to date: Sixth Report of the Health and Social Care Committee and Third Report of the Science and Technology Committee of Session 2021–22.” Sept. 2021, https://committees.parliament.uk/publications/7496/documents/78687/default/

[2] Ibid., p.28

[3] Ibid.

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The Prime Minister, the Parties, and the Ministerial Code

By Professor Michael Gordon

The current Prime Minister’s long running battle with the Seven Principles of Public Lifecontinues to gather pace.  Boris Johnson’s actions relating to the pandemic ‘partygate’ scandalhave arguably violated each of the principles established by the Nolan Committee in 1995:  selflessness, integrity, objectivity, accountability, openness, honesty and leadership.  The Prime Minister’s full house of ethical violations concerning his attendance and subsequent denials of social gatherings held in Downing Street, contrary to lockdown restrictions, have also yielded Fixed Penalty Notices from the police for him, his Chancellor, his wife, and other government officials, with the prospect of more to follow.  Yet the Prime Minister remains committed to staying in post, and has refused to resign.

A key accusation made against Johnson by Peter Hennessy (the historian and now member of the House of Lords) is that his actions during the partygate scandal, combined with his refusal to resign, have ‘shredded the Ministerial Code’, generating ‘the most severe constitutional crisis involving a Prime Minister that I can remember’.  Similarly, the political journalist Robert Peston has argued that if Conservative MPs refuse to topple Johnson, they will ‘blithely ignore the ministerial code’, with the consequence that ‘the constitution means little or nothing’.

It is of course understandable why the Ministerial Code has had such prominence in this episode – it is a relatively clear, succinct, and publicly accessible statement of some relevant rules and principles concerning ministerial conduct.  The very idea of a ‘Ministerial Code’ sounds constitutionally important, and also effectively highlights the hypocrisy of Johnson apparently refusing to adhere to the standards applicable to ‘ordinary’ ministers, given the Code is formally issued in each new Prime Minister’s name accompanied by a personalised foreword preaching about the importance of upholding ‘the very highest standards of propriety’ (2019).

Yet the pre-eminence of the Ministerial Code in debates concerning the Prime Minister’s conduct also raises some important questions.  In particular, in this blog post I want to consider whether the Ministerial Code is the best reference point by which to assess the Prime Minister’s actions, and what impact its central status could have on the debate around whether the Prime Minister should resign.

There are two key issues which make it questionable whether the Ministerial Code should be the primary tool for critiquing the conduct of the Prime Minister.  First, the fact that the authority of the Code flows from the Prime Minister, and is therefore a statement of constitutional principles derived from the executive.  Second, the specificity of the Code – and especially the rules concerning the provision of accurate information to Parliament – seems to invite quite technical analysis of the Prime Minister’s conduct, and even his state of mind, when assessing whether the legislature has been misled.

The PM as Arbiter of the Code

First, it is made explicitly clear that the Ministerial Code is the Prime Minister’s document, and it is for the Prime Minister to apply and enforce: ‘Ministers only remain in office for so long as they retain the confidence of the Prime Minister.  He is the ultimate judge of the standards of behaviour expected of a Minister and the appropriate consequences of a breach of those standards’ (2019, para 1.6).  This was also accepted by the High Court in the recent case of FDA v Prime Minister [2021] EWHC 3279 (Admin).  While the court (dubiously, in my view) held that some questions relating to the Ministerial Code might be justiciable (in this case, the interpretation given to the concept of ‘bullying’), Lewis LJ and Steyn J acknowledged at para [60] that the Prime Minister was the ultimate decision-maker in relation to whether there had been a departure from the standards set out in the Code.

Of course, it has long been true that a Prime Minister has the decisive say over ministerial resignations.  Writing in 1956, long before the publication of a Ministerial Code, the political theorist Samuel Finer – who was sceptical about the ‘constitutional folk-lore’ concerning the existence of a ‘supposed’ resignation convention – identified three factors which determined whether a minister would lose their office: ‘if the Minister is yielding, his Prime Minister unbending and his party out for blood’.  If, as in the present circumstances, the minister under pressure is also the Prime Minister, then his or her decision-making effectively accounts for two out of three of these variables.

Yet if criticism of Boris Johnson’s conduct is made against the benchmark of the Ministerial Code, of which he is the stated arbiter, this sets up an accountability paradigm which is entirely premised on the fact that it is a matter of the Prime Minister’s own moral calculation whether to resign.  If Finer’s third variable – the attitude of the political party – was already peripheral, in focusing on the text of the Ministerial Code it is written out of the picture.

This first limitation of accountability via the Ministerial Code is now partly being addressed by Parliament taking a greater role in the accountability process.  The vote last week in the House of Commons to order an investigation into the Prime Minister’s statements to Parliament about the non-occurrence of parties in Downing Street is a welcome reminder that it is a matter for the Commons to determine whether a Prime Minister has misled the House.  But while it will surely add to the overall political pressure on Johnson and the government, any such investigation remains some way off – pending the completion of the police investigation and the publication of Sue Gray’s full and final report – and the consequences of it are difficult to anticipate, especially if the Prime Minister manages to survive until that point.  The Conservative Party has a majority on the Privileges Committee, which will carry out the investigation without its current chair Chris Bryant, who has recused himself on the basis of his previous criticism of Johnson.  A vote on any recommended sanctions would then come back to the whole House, where the Conservatives also enjoy the protection of a substantial majority.  And while potential sanctions include a (likely short) suspension from the Commons, the Privileges Committee could not instruct Johnson to resign as Prime Minister.

More importantly, Conservative MPs have not to this point lacked a formal means to remove the Prime Minister, which they could attempt through a no confidence vote in his leadership of the party or even in his government – instead, it has been the unwillingness of a majority of MPs to use these constitutional mechanisms which has ensured Johnson remains Prime Minister.  But at least these parliamentary developments have refocused the debate and remind us that, in this case, whatever the text of the Ministerial Code may say, the Prime Minister does not have the exclusive power to determine his own fate.

Avoiding Technicalities

The second challenge raised by the pursuit of Prime Ministerial accountability by reference to the Ministerial Code is that it may be encouraging an unhelpfully technical approach to the rules which prohibit misleading Parliament.  The relevant provision of the Code (which is replicated in a Commons resolution of 19 March 1997, Cols. 1046-47) says ‘It is of paramount importance that Ministers give accurate and truthful information to Parliament, correcting any inadvertent error at the earliest opportunity.  Ministers who knowingly mislead Parliament will be expected to offer their resignation to the Prime Minister’ (2019, para 1.3(c)).  This provision is unusual in the Code in identifying a specific potential sanction – resignation – for misleading Parliament.  And there is also plenty here for those who are used to dealing with legal rules to get their interpretive teeth into, in particular the question of when an error will count as ‘inadvertent’, and what it means for a Minister to mislead Parliament ‘knowingly’.

The risk, however, is that focusing on the textual formulation of this rule encourages a legalistic approach which distracts from the underlying normative purpose of the principle that Ministers should not mislead Parliament.  There will be rapidly diminishing returns from a debate about whether ‘knowingly’ means the Prime Minister must have intentionally or consciously lied to Parliament to violate the relevant norm, or whether having (or claiming to have) a misguided subjective belief that he was giving accurate information based on the assurances he had received would be sufficient to avoid a technical violation.  It also, crucially, sets up the defence Johnson has already used to deny he misled Parliament – that it did not occur to him ‘then or subsequently’ that the gathering he attended to celebrate his birthday would be a breach of the law, so in that sense there has been no knowing deception.

Instead, when establishing whether the Prime Minister misled the Commons, his alleged state of mind need not be the decisive factor.  The scale and significance of the misleading claims are also material, a point which emerges from the speech of Harold Macmillan in the debatefollowing the resignation of John Profumo for misleading the House of Commons in 1963: ‘I do not remember in the whole of my life, or even in the political history of the past, a case of a Minister of the Crown who has told a deliberate lie to his wife, to his legal advisers and to his Ministerial colleagues, not once but over and over again, who has then repeated this lie to the House of Commons’ (HC Deb 17 June 1963 vol.679, cols.54-55). 

In relation to partygate, the current Prime Minister expressed a clear position, repeated in the House of Commons and elsewhere (on one count, the denials of rule breaking were made some 39 times), about a matter of major public significance, which has proved to be inaccurate.  Going down the rabbit hole of whether the Prime Minister did or did not know that he was misleading the Commons is a distraction from the fact that, regardless, he ought to have known.  Especially as the head of the government which enacted the relevant secondary legislation regulating the response to Covid-19, as the political leader responsible for communicating the need for and effect of these rules directly to the people, via television press conferences on a regular basis throughout the pandemic, or even simply (as we are frequently reminded) as a public figure who obtained an education from an expensive school and a leading university.

There is a recent precedent which reinforces this approach.  In 2018, Amber Rudd resigned as Home Secretary having misled the House of Commons Home Affairs Select Committee over the existence of immigrant removal targets.  The information she relied on was prepared by civil servants within her department, but in her resignation letter to the then Prime Minister Theresa May, Rudd wrote ‘I have reviewed the advice I was given on this issue and become aware of information provided to my office which makes mention of targets.  I should have been aware of this, and I take full responsibility for the fact that I was not’ (emphasis added).

There are of course a multitude of factors which shape any ministerial resignation, and no doubt Rudd’s departure from office was influenced by other considerations.  They include the objectionable nature of the removal targets which she had denied existed, wider public outrage about the deportation and denial of rights by the state of the generation of black Commonwealth citizens caught up in the Windrush scandal, and the fact that Rudd’s resignation might be viewed as a form of sacrificial accountability which protected her Prime Minister Theresa May, who as Home Secretary had been the leading architect of the hostile environment immigration strategy which led to Windrush.

Yet with all these caveats, Amber Rudd’s resignation shows that we need not get caught up in excessively technical arguments about the Prime Minister’s state of mind which are elevated in this debate by overfocusing on the written text of the Ministerial Code.  In constitutional terms, this is a precedent which indicates the Prime Minister should be expected to resign.

Nevertheless, even in a situation where 78% of the public do not believe the Prime Minister’s claims, there is no authority which can compel him to accept this conclusion and resign (although as Alison Young points out, there are still consequences for him to bear in the meantime, in the form of vociferous political criticism).  Looking beyond the Ministerial Code, however, at least allows us to construct the argument that the “it never crossed my mind” defence is an inadequate defence – constitutional principles have been violated, because the Ministerial Code is not exhaustive or determinative of the Prime Minister’s obligations to Parliament.

Conclusion

The Ministerial Code is a valuable document in clarifying many standards applicable to government ministers in an accessible way.  But over-emphasis on the Ministerial Code as the central instrument of political accountability generates some challenges. 

If the Ministerial Code becomes a de facto replacement for the deeper constitutional conventions of ministerial responsibility, rather than a supplement to them, it imports a key structural problem: it emphasises the PM–Cabinet accountability relationship over the government–Parliament accountability relationship.  This is especially problematic when it is the Prime Minister whose conduct is the subject of scrutiny, as well as being the formal source of these ethical rules within government.  Reliance on the Ministerial Code as the primary vehicle for establishing ministerial standards also demonstrates that, as well as generating the potential for accountability, the existence of precise written rules can be a limitation if those rules are susceptible to being interpreted narrowly.

These tensions are evident in the debate about whether the Prime Minister should resign over partygate.  The Ministerial Code is obviously not the main problem in the UK constitution at present, but it is nevertheless worth considering how a shift in constitutional discourse might create some scope for more effective accountability in practice.

I’m very grateful to Alison Young for her comments on an earlier draft of this post.

Mike Gordon, Professor of Constitutional Law, University of Liverpool

This post was originally published on the UK Constitutional Law Blog. Republished with the permission of the author.

(Suggested citation: M. Gordon, ‘The Prime Minister, the Parties, and the Ministerial Code’, U.K. Const. L. Blog (27th Apr. 2022) (available at https://ukconstitutionallaw.org/))

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Held in contempt: what’s wrong with the House of Commons?

The sight of Ukrainians standing in front of Russian tanks should provide a sharp corrective to any complacency about the permanence of democratic systems around the world. Of course such complacency would already be misplaced given the evidence of increased autocratic tendencies and democratic backsliding of governments in numerous countries, which is becoming the subject of a growing academic literature. But it is a stark reminder of our responsibility to work to strengthen the effectiveness and public reputation of parliamentary democracy, if we value it.   

The UK parliament is not immune from these pressures. The Brexit process demonstrated that UK governments are willing to sideline and even – in the case of Boris Johnson’s prorogation – close down parliament in order to achieve their political aims. And the Covid-19 pandemic has seen government become ever more accustomed to using emergency powers that require only retrospective parliamentary approval. As two House of Lords committees have noted in recent reports (Democracy denied and Government by diktat), growing use of skeleton bills which provide only minimal policy detail and leave the rest to be filled in with sweeping regulatory powers has further minimised parliament’s ability to play its role in the democratic system. Meanwhile the executive’s strong control over the Commons agenda limits the ability of MPs to enhance the effectiveness of their own institution.   

In my new book, published in April, I argue that – for too long – MPs have been careless of the reputation of the House of Commons and resigned to a declining spiral of public trust in their institution. MPs need to recognise the threat to our democratic system represented by the contempt in which the public hold parliament. Low public trust in parliament is not a problem that can be easily solved. But nor is it an immutable conundrum before which MPs can simply shrug their shoulders and carry on as before. There are obvious issues about the way in which MPs and the House of Commons operate which could and should be addressed, to make our democratic system as effective and as valued as it should be.

Perhaps most fundamentally, the House of Commons is not descriptively representative of the population it serves. This matters for reasons of justice and symbolism but also the effectiveness and legitimacy of the House. Political parties have made efforts that have been more (Labour) or less (Conservative) effective at increasing the representation of women in the Commons but it is frankly pathetic that gender equality has not been achieved over 100 years since women became eligible to be elected to the Commons – we are still stuck at 34%. Other aspects of diversity – including disability and ethnicity – have been even less susceptible to change. 

And there is no guarantee that even existing slow progress towards an representative house might not be reversed. The evident pressures of life as an MP (including the risk of being murdered in your constituency surgery), anachronistic working practices and the physical constraints of the parliamentary estate could all slow or even reverse recent trends towards increased diversity of MPs. Some of the answers to these problems lie elsewhere, but MPs should think much more actively about how to make parliament an inclusive and accessible workplace which is attractive to a diverse range of candidates.

For example, while many MPs feel that the rituals, traditions, language and heritage of parliament lend gravitas and importance to their deliberations, the way parliament works can also be exclusionary and impenetrable for those on the outside looking in. This may even be the case for MPs themselves. Even those you might expect to be the most accomplished at understanding the plethora of standing orders, precedents, rulings and conventions may lack confidence in deploying them. Sir Charles Walker, former chair of the Commons Procedure Committee cheerfully admitted to me that – after running the committee for seven and a half years he knew “very little “ about procedure. The complexity of parliament’s rules and procedures lead to undemocratic disparities in the ability of MPs to perform their roles, handing power to the whips. They must be simplified. 

A further problem which I highlight in the book as damaging the public reputation of the House of Commons is the exceptionalism of too many MPs. The doctrine of ‘parliamentary sovereignty’ – that parliament is the highest legal authority – leads some MPs to treat themselves as a class apart with damaging consequences for public perceptions of parliament. Such exceptionalism has been at the root of many parliamentary scandals over the years – from MPs’ expenses to #MeToo. Sadly the ‘partygate’ scandal has provided a new and live example of the corrosive effect on public trust when those in power assume there should be one rule for them and another for everyone else. MPs need to recognise the rationale for and consequent limits to their privileges, striving to make the House of Commons an exemplar in following the rules it sets for others, rather than an exception to them.

The catastrophic decline in trust in parliament has so far failed to prompt serious attention from MPs, let alone action. In some ways this is unsurprising – the history of the House of Commons – in common with that of many other institutions – demonstrates that significant change only happens in the window of opportunity following a crisis. Brexit and Covid both posed significant challenges for MPs but neither were seen by them as justification for serious reforms. This is dangerously complacent. Russia’s autocratic challenge to Ukraine’s fledgling democracy should remind us to value and invest in our parliamentary system. The House of Commons is held in contempt, but it need not be.  

Dr Hannah White OBE, Deputy Director of the Institute for Government

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New visual cues in the UK Parliament

“The medium is the message”. Marshall McLuhan

The use of videoconferencing technologies in the UK Parliament allows political representatives to be seen in a new setting, which representatives can – to a large degree – arrange and present as they see fit. This marks a departure from – and in some sense a juxtaposition with – traditional parliamentary imagery and backdrops. In turn, it also ushers in new discussions of political representation and communication.

For several years now I have been studying Parliament through narrative, in order to better understand existing practices and perceptions (both inside and outside the institution). A useful definition of narrative is provided by Barthes (1975), who discusses narrative as an “ordered mixture of substances”. This means that there is a sequential – or structural – nature to this concept. Narratives are comprised of things that are in themselves purely incidental, even coincidental, but have been presented collectively in a meaningful way in order to express an idea or concept. 

So what are these ‘substances’ in a parliamentary context? How can we identify them? As Puwar (2010)observes, “grilles, galleries, rooms, vents, statues, paintings, walls, halls, curtains, stairwells, seats, rods and feet provide points from which to tell the sedimented, layered and contested stories of occupation, performance and ritual”. In using this observation to build on the aforementioned definition of narratives, we can construct a coherent view of what parliamentary narratives are: an ordered mixture of storytelling substances.

In this context, ‘disorder’ – i.e. any rupture with established narrative(s) – is subject to a swift institutional response. A couple of years ago, in the Commons chamber, MP Peter bone wore what was widely – and fairly accurately – described as a ‘silly hat’ in connection with his charity work. At the time, Commons Speaker John Bercow said that, ideally, the hat would never be seen again by anyone in society, and especially not in the House of Commons. This incident was allegedly a violation of a 1998 ban on hats (yes, there is a ban on hats in the Commons…).

These incidents are by no means particular or peculiar to the UK. We have seen the calling-out of political slogans by Speakers in a range of parliaments, in response to items or statements that appear to be political or partisan. Anthony Rota, Speaker of the House of Commons in Canada, has previously voiced concern over MPs’ backgrounds, on the basis of their straying from ‘political neutrality’. 

There is something intriguing about these moments. The Speakers do not typically focus on how the ‘offending’ items make the MP look; instead, they focus on how these items make Parliament look. Of course, this is reasonable rhetoric for a Speaker, but it also hints at a certain anxiety around rupturing the ‘visual fabric’ – and the inherent theatricality – of Parliament.

The use of videoconferencing technologies (such as Zoom and Teams) has added new storytelling substances into parliaments’ visual discourses. When they are not physically present in the chamber, political representatives are now able to broadcast their immediate surroundings into parliamentary premises, and by extension to the viewing public. This is especially significant in cases such as Prime Minister’s Questions, and other high-profile parliamentary events.

This matters because for centuries, the UK Parliament has largely had visual cues – and the way(s) in which these are ordered – under its exclusive control. This has been turned upside-down (or sideways, at least) by parliamentarians using videoconferencing technology. They now have a measure of control over their immediate surroundings, which they can curate and arrange as they please (within some of the institutional bounds discussed earlier). 

This development raises new questions about visual narratives, discourses, and parliamentary symbolism. Therefore, it has been disappointing to see that direct academic study has been rather limited. Media discussion on this topic – and the popular discourse more broadly – has been both narrow and shallow. Rankings of Conservative MPs’ flag backdrops from best to worst, and rankings of MPs’ houses (as seen via video calls), don’t tell us very much about MPs, much less what they may be trying to represent about themselves (and who/what they represent). 

The closest thing we get to an analysis – in a media context at least – is a discussion of the link between MPs’ backgrounds and their personalities:

While Liz Truss gets very patriotic on Zoom with her large flagpole, SNP Westminster leader Ian Blackford always sits surrounded by signed memorabilia from his beloved Celtic Football Club, with two footballs behind him. Alister Jack, Scotland Secretary, is good at showing his loyalty to the homeland too, with some nice Dumfriesshire oil paintings.

These visual cues – by which representatives can (attempt to) connect with publics and/or their own constituencies – underlines the significance of MPs as “living symbols of a locality” (Crewe 2015). The nature of these visual cues – and their likelihood of success – varies widely. From the aforementioned flagpoles, football memorabilia, and oil paintings, to Clive Betts’ Lego Palace of Westminster, it is fair to say that these backgrounds are neither accidental nor incidental. They are attempts by MPs to communicate, or to connect: to represent themselves to publics, and to represent publics (or some element of them) to publics. 

A common theme across what we have discussed so far – visual ‘disruptions’ in Parliament, as identified by Commons Speakers, and the independently-curated backgrounds facilitated by videoconferencing – is institutional anxiety. A lot of this is focused around the presence of new technology in the Commons, especially that which enables communication at a distance. I have written previously about then-Leader of the House Jacob Rees-Mogg’s assertion, in June 2020, that a ‘virtual parliament’ is damaging to politics, which “is better done face-to-face, even if the whites of the ministerial eyes are six feet away”.

Leaving aside Mr Rees-Mogg’s words – and their highly militaristic connotations – it is also interesting that the UK Parliament was at pains to show that, even as a virtual/hybrid parliament, it was still the same legislature. Back in April 2020, its news feed was careful to note that “[t]o maintain continuity and tradition…the symbolic and historic Mace is still placed on the table whenever the House is sitting and a socially distanced Speaker’s processing still takes place”.

This anxiety is also palpable outside of the ‘Westminster village’. Playwright and screenwriter James Graham, in May 2020, discussed the importance of physical proximity in order to build and maintain empathy (which is unarguably an important component of representation). Nevertheless, his central argument, including the assertion that “there was no Microsoft Teams in ancient Athens”, is highly problematic. First of all, a lot of things weren’t present in ancient Athens, including a model of democracy that we would find equitable or desirable (this point is relevant to direct and representative models of democracy). 

Secondly, Graham’s central argument – that an absence of physical presence equates to an absence of opportunity to build empathy – simply does not hold up, in theory or in practice. Let’s deal with practice first. When MPs’ chosen backdrops are visible and thereby available to publics, there is engagement (even if this takes the form of satire, ridicule, or open hostility). In other words, we see de-mystification in these moments. It is difficult to overstate how much of an asset this can be; in building empathy, in underlining MPs’ status as ‘living symbols’, and – crucially – to complementing physical proximity.

I saw this first-hand while conducting research for the Inter-Parliamentary Union’s upcoming Global Parliamentary Report on public engagement with parliaments. For logistical reasons (relating to geographical distance and to Covid-19) almost all of the research interviews and focus groups were conducted via Zoom. This, as you might imagine, created a different atmosphere – and, in several respects, a more personally engaging one –than if the discussions had all taken place in constituency offices, or in parliamentary buildings. The spaces we saw on Zoom were windows into the personae of MPs and staff. 

This is the same sense of empathy that so many commentators (inside and outside of Westminster) perceive to be at risk, and that videoconferencing technology can – in fact – help to generate. 

Let’s now turn to theory. John Parkinson (2013) observed that legislatures are “places where competing narratives are told and claims on public resources are made, scrutinized, prioritized, accepted, repackaged and rejected”. Puwar, as we have already discussed, acknowledged that the stories told in – or, more accurately, by – parliamentary space are contested ones. Contestation – within what we might describe as normative bounds – is intrinsic to Parliament’s institutional identity. Parliament exists because of contestation.  

The idea that videoconferencing technology, ‘virtual parliaments’, and so on, constitute a rupture, or a situation of precarity, within an established parliamentary narrative (relating to democratic and historical continuity, for instance) is unfounded in theoretical and basic practical terms. The UK Parliament (more than most parliaments) continues to operate in a state of narrative flux, meaning that contestation itself can be read as a political status quo. Videoconferencing technology continues this process in a highly visual way, but with the benefit of a greater potential for empathy through seeing a glimpse of MPs’ real lives, however they may choose to present them. 

Dr Alex Prior, Lecturer in Politics, London South Bank University and Honorary Research Fellow at the University of East Anglia.