Tag: House of Commons

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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.

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What ever happened to impeachment in the United Kingdom? Accountability, history and the decline of parliamentary impeachment

Drawing upon my doctoral research undertaken at King’s College London, this blog post examines why impeachment fell into decline in the United Kingdom. My research considered this decline with reference to key moments of parliamentary and constitutional history, moments where Parliament and the country faced times of crisis. This blog post argues that it is possible to trace the causes for this decline alongside the development of alternative accountability mechanisms. Furthermore, it also argues that there is scope for seeing impeachment not so much as a factional device (which it was at times), but as a major development in permitting the House of Commons to achieve the accountability of key officials within and outside of the executive.

When thinking about impeachment it is safe to assume that most people in this country will not be thinking of the impeachment that originated in the Good Parliament of 1376, where the Commons impeached Lord Latimer on the basis of financial irregularities and his military record, but rather the United States of America.

The previous President of the United States of America Donald Trump was impeached twice, firstly in 2019, and secondly in 2021. Trump was acquitted on both occasions by the Senate.  Prior to Trump, the most recent presidential impeachment was that of President Bill Clinton. President Clinton’s impeachment has been re-explored in popular culture in Impeachment: American Crime Story that has recently aired on the FX network. Impeachment is at the forefront of American popular political culture and countless fictional presidents have resigned to avoid the threat of impeachment (for example House of Cards and Veep), or have been impeached, or in the case of the West Wing censured.

It is not the case in the United Kingdom. As noted above, impeachment originated in England in 1376 during the final years of Edward III’s reign and enabled the Commons to demand that leading officials were held to account for their conduct. The precise nature of the process would not be settled for some time, and impeachment was used in various hybrid forms in the years following 1376. What is clear is that the origins of impeachment are linked to Parliament’s response to times of national crisis, which in 1376 related to England’s military misfortunes during the Hundred Years War, the financial crisis the country faced, and real concerns over how the country was to be governed due to the monarch’s infirmity and the fact this the king’s likely successor would be a child

The last British impeachment concerned Henry Dundas, 1st Viscount Melville, who was accused of the misuse of public funds. Melville was ultimately acquitted by the House of Lords in 1806. Most recently in 2004 there was an attempt to impeach Tony Blair, the then Prime Minister, over the Prime Minister’s conduct in relation to the decision to invade Iraq. This attempt went nowhere, despite a formal motion drafted by experienced MPs and assisted by a legal opinion drafted by Conor Gearty and Rabinder Singh QC of Matrix Chambers.

Why has there not been an impeachment since Melville’s acquittal in 1806? The short answer is that since the 1740s, when Sir Robert Walpole resigned after realizing he longer had the confidence of the House of Commons, impeachment started to be superseded by alternative political accountability mechanisms.

My doctoral research drew heavily on the historical use of impeachment in this country and has considered four case studies that demonstrated how impeachment was used. These case studies were the so-called ‘revival’ of impeachment in the seventeenth century, the use of impeachment during the factional disputes between the Whigs and Tories at the start of the eighteenth century, the impeachment of Warren Hastings in 1787 and the impeachment of Viscount Melville. This blog post will briefly consider the third case study, that of Warren Hastings.

Perhaps the most famous impeachment in British history was that of Warren Hastings, the former governor-general of Bengal. Hastings’ impeachment was the culmination of many years of concern within the metropolis over the conduct of the East India Company’s servants in India and the financial liability of the Company’s control over an increasing amount of territory. Reform of the Company and its governance in India had been attempted by Lord North’s Regulating Act of 1773, there had also been a serious attempt to proceed against a colonial governor, Sir Thomas Rumbold of Madras, and had been both a select and a secret committee into the Company’s conduct. Therefore, it is possible to see Hastings’ impeachment as a product of this perceived crisis over the East India Company and the influence that it (and its often very rich servants) had on the political life of the country.

The call to impeach Hastings was led by Edmund Burke MP and his then political ally, Charles James Fox MP, who were in turn supported by Hastings’ political rival, Sir Philip Francis. The impeachment has been written about by a range of academics and contemporary commentators and was recorded in the popular culture of the late eighteenth century, most notably in the caricatures by James Gillray and James Sayers. In terms of how the impeachment was portrayed by contemporaries, it is interesting to contrast Gillray and Sayer’s treatment of Hastings, as evidenced by Gillray’s caricature, ‘Impeachment ticket. For the trial of W-RR-NH-ST-NGS Esqr’ and Sayers’ caricature ‘For the Trial of Warren Hastings, Seventh Day’.

Having been impeached by the House of Commons in 1787, Hastings was then tried before the House of Lords, with his trial lasting seven years. The prosecution was conducted by the managers, which included Richard Sheridan MP and Edmund Burke MP on behalf of the House of Commons. Hastings was eventually acquitted, but the conclusion of many contemporaries was that the impeachment had not been a success, as the public and politicians had grown tired of the prosecution’s allegations.

It is interesting to consider the question of what if Parliament was today confronted by a modern-day Hastings? The East India Company and Hastings represented a threat to the nation and one that despite legislative reform remained unresolved (see the Regulating Act 1773, Fox’s India Bill in 1783, and Pitt’s India Act of 1784).

If Parliament was faced by a modern-day Warren Hastings, then alternative accountability mechanisms could be used rather than impeachment. There could be an investigation by the relevant select committee, debates in both Houses of Parliament, and the Prime Minister could be persuaded to establish a public inquiry. There could also perhaps, depending on the nature of the allegations, be a prosecution before the ordinary courts.

Taking a step back from the Hastings impeachment, it is important to note that impeachment had originated in the late fourteenth century as a way for the House of Commons to prosecute grievances outside of the ordinary criminal justice system and lead to a trial before the House of Lords. Despite a record of partisanship, arguably never more so than at the start of the eighteenth century, it is possible to see impeachment as a valuable accountability mechanism, in as much as it enabled the House of Commons to hold the executive to account.

So, what about the status of impeachment today? Is it possible that it could still serve a purpose, or is it to be considered as obsolete and confined to the history books?

My doctoral research, which will be published by Routledge as My doctoral research, which will be published by Routledge as Accountability, Impeachment and the Constitution: The Case for a Modernised Process in the United Kingdom (2022), has argued that by drawing upon the development and the operation of impeachment in this country’s history, it offers a way to see impeachment as empowering the House of Commons in the face of a powerful executive.ve.

At a time when there is a concern that there has been a disregard for the accepted constitutional norms (as evidenced by the decision to prorogue Parliament for five weeks and failure to enforce the Ministerial Code) it is argued that a modernised form of impeachment could empower the House of Commons to take on the role as the guardian of the constitution and ultimately proceed against government ministers, who are alleged to have acted in a way as to breach the accepted constitutional norms.

Through a mixture of deterrent, sanction and public scrutiny, it is argued that a modernized and revised form of impeachment would make a valuable contribution to the existing accountability toolkit and buttress the political constitution. To avoid concerns over partisanship, show trials and executive dominance of the House of Commons, it is proposed that impeachment would be modernised. No longer would there be a focus on crimes, instead impeachment would be concerned with breaches of the constitution. The eventual determination of wrongdoing would no longer be determined by the House of Lords, but drawing upon the Danish practice of impeachment, it would be determined by a specially constituted Court of Impeachment.

Dr Chris Monaghan, Principal Lecturer in Law, University of Worcester

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Reimagining impeachment: A new blueprint for our challenging times

By Chris Monaghan

Henry Dundas, the first Viscount Melville (1742-1811), holds an infamous place in British constitutional history: he was the last person to be impeached. His acquittal by the House of Lords in 1806 marked the beginning of what has become a long pause in the use of an impeachment procedure against politicians or public officials. The last time that events got anywhere near interrupting this long pause came in 2004 when a number of MPs, including our present Prime Minister Boris Johnson, sought to impeach Tony Blair over the invasion of Iraq. The impeachment motion was co-drafted by experienced MPs and placed on the House of Common’s order paper, though proceeded no further (for the motion and background see J Simson Caird, ‘Impeachment’ House of Commons Briefing Paper).

But could it be that the turbulence of recent years when there have been many complaints about the government’s disrespect for accepted constitutional norms, now demands that we shake impeachment processes out of their sleepy historical stupor? It might be possible that reimagining impeachment at Westminster provides a way of ‘shifting the balance’ towards a healthier constitutional equilibrium. Such a shift might have positive effects beyond thinking solely in terms of the executive and the legislature. However, we would need to consider what a new blueprint for impeachment would actually look like. This is important for when we consider below the problem that needs to be addressed, which is an increasing trend for certain members of the executive to display behaviour that demonstrates a failure to show proper respect to the accepted constitutional norms. 

The problem

The starting point is to address whether the executive is sufficiently responsible to the House of Commons for how it conducts the affairs of state and ministerial decision making. 

The balance between the different branches of the state is key. This responsibility of ministers to Parliament is the lynchpin of the Westminster system of government and our unwritten constitution, developed over time through custom and practice, some of its principles are reiterated today in the Ministerial Code. In making a case for impeachment, I am concerned that the House of Commons, as it is empowered at present, is not fully capable of holding the executive to account in performing its basic function of ensuring ministerial decision-making and the conduct of affairs of state are undertaken in accordance with prevailing political morals, procedures and expectations.

In my view, there is now a tendency in executive conduct n either being not prepared to accept the traditional obligations imposed by the constitution and expressed in convention, or to be too willing to push constitutional boundaries. This undermines the political morality of the constitution and the centrality of ethics and obligations in our public life (see for example Andrew Blick and Lord Hennessy, ‘Good Chaps No More? Safeguarding the Constitution in Stressful Times’).

The accountability mechanisms that the Commons currently has as its disposal have inherent limitations. Ministerial question time and select committees, whilst used increasingly effectively in drawing attention to matters of constitutional controversy, can raise public awareness and so exert pressure, but are not directly capable of ensuring ministerial compliance with the accepted norms and principles of good governance. The last resort of a no confidence motion, which if successful will trigger a prime ministerial resignation or general election, is so self-destructive to backbench MPs of the governing party as to be arguably ineffective for the purpose of securing real accountability. This is because bringing down a Prime Minister could reek havoc within their own political party, risks electoral defeat if this is accompanied by a general election, will incur the wrath of constituency party members, and possibly see an MP lose their seat. It should be noted that a no confidence motion should be distinguished from the willingness of MPs to rebel against their own government, as is currently the case with the government and conservative MPs who do not support any further Covid-19 restrictions. This is because the intent is not to bring down the government, but rather to use the threat of undermining the government to influence policy. 

A core problem is the lack of formal checks and balances in the UK’s unwritten constitution, and the dominance of the government over the legislature that has sovereign legal authority in the state. Where the Cabinet enjoys a comfortable majority in the Commons, as at present, and its own MPs and ministers are willing to accept or to ignore its leadership’s assault on the constitution, there is a virtual vacuum of accountability, however strenuous the attempts of the Supreme Court to fill the void.

There have been several well-catalogued cases of unconstitutional conduct in the last few years. They include the willingness of the present Prime Minister to abuse the royal prerogative to prorogue Parliament during the final crucial stages of the Brexit negotiations, and to undermine the reports of independent inquiries into cases of ministerial and parliamentary misconduct (see for example the criticism of the Prime Minister’s advice to the monarch concerning the prorogation of Parliament and the general background to the Supreme Court’s decision in R (on the application of Miller) v The Prime Minister). 

This increased willingness to disregard constitutional norms for reasons of self-serving political expediency risks undermining respect for British political rules and customs generally. It poses potentially catastrophic consequences too if politicians come to believe that any course of conduct can now be justified and override constitutional niceties simply by reference to its electoral and parliamentary majority: this is pure populism, the antithesis of constitutionalism. 

The solution

In my forthcoming book, Accountability, the Constitution and Impeachment: The Case for a Modernised Process in the United Kingdom (Routledge 2022), I argue that impeachment could provide a remedy. I envisage that the House of Commons could more overtly serve as the guardian of the constitution, possessing a modernised power of impeachment that focusses on breaches of the accepted norms of good governance, both in terms of competence and morality. It would not be concerned with allegations of criminal conduct which can and should be left to the ordinary courts. 

This would be a statutory mechanism, established by my proposed Impeachment Act. It would enable a quorum of MPs, which would be twelve, to initiate investigation of serious ministerial misconduct, provide a framework through which investigations would remove fruitless or politically motivated actions, and an independent means of adjudication and outcome, further elaborated on below. At this point it is worth noting that the quorum of twelve MPs was chosen as the number would ensure that there was always the possibility that an impeachment could be brought, but the relatively low number required would be balanced out against the checks and balances within the statutory framework.

Its principal value would be as a form of deterrent. My proposed modernised procedure would certainly make it easier to bring an impeachment action (removing uncertainty over the existence of impeachment, drawing MPs attention to its utility, and stipulating parliamentary time and resources beyond the gift of government), but in practice it would be rarely used. Its main purpose would be as an ultimate sanction if ministers choose to ignore constitutional conventions, or are simply inept. 

Its use as a deterrent would be further strengthened by including in the Impeachment Act a retrospective sanction, operating as a punitive sanction when the prime minister or minister is no longer protected by a government majority in the Commons. This would clearly distinguish it from a no confidence motion. It is clear that there could remain a valid reason for the House of Commons to proceed against former Prime Ministers, such as the continuing sustained criticism of Sir Tony Blair’s conduct over the invasion of Iraq (see for example the petition to rescind Blair’s knighthood).  In the case of serving ministers backed by the government majority, an impeachment process could allow a small number of MPs to commence a time limited examination into allegations of unconstitutionality or incompetence. The point of this would be a high-profile case being made for impeachment that would be accompanied by a report by leading experts, which in itself could serve as a deterrent in the first place, even if the minister was in the short-term protected by their party’s majority in the Commons. 

What would a modernised form of impeachment look like?

My proposals for a modernised impeachment process would be set out in an Impeachment Act. This reimagines impeachment, identifying its rationale and normative purpose, attempting to steer clear of the problems long associated with impeachment. For example, to address concerns over partisanship and MPs using impeachment to proceed against former ministers without merit for purely party-political purposes, I provide procedural safeguards. These include a central role played by the Speaker of the Commons, and a preliminary inquiry by an Independent Panel of Experts, followed by a report by an Impeachment Committee of the Commons. This committee would be specially created to carry out this purpose and would be independent of the Committee on Standards and Privileges.

Historically, once the Commons voted to impeach an individual, then that individual was tried before the House of Lords under the presidency of the Lord Chancellor. Clearly this process has become an anachronism and the involvement of neither the Lords nor Lord Chancellor are desirable today. 

If we are to draw up a modern impeachment process, it should draw on the experience of other comparative legislatures. A useful model is Denmark, where a minister who has been impeached by the legislature is then tried before a specially constituted Court of Impeachment. It was successfully utilised in 1995 in a gross case of illegal ministerial tampering with visa applications to prevent Tamil refugees entering the country. 

The House of Commons would fulfil its role as the guardian of the constitution by calling out unconstitutional conduct and impeaching those responsible. The impeachment is not the final determination of guilt, and it is important that there is a separate forum for reaching a verdict, which would be the Court of Impeachment. In my book I suggest the Court for UK purposes be composed of seven senior judicial office holders and seven suitably qualified lay (non-parliamentary) members serving ten years terms of office. After the lengthy pre-trial processes in Parliament, it would fall to the Court to determine whether a violation of the constitution as set out in the letters of impeachment had occurred. If the answer was yes then, then unlike the traditional operation of English impeachment in times past, there would be no custodial sentence or fine. I envisage that the remedies available to the Court be limited to a declaration of misconduct and/or disqualification from holding public office.

The proposals for reform in my book, Accountability, the Constitution and Impeachment: The Case for a Modernised Process in the United Kingdom, may appear radical, controversial and out of time. However, an impeachment process operating to support and strengthen the authority of the legislature and sanction ministers to comply with ideas and practices of good governance operates successfully elsewhere and should be seriously considered for the UK. As a concept it was pioneered in England in former times and subsequently emulated in other countries in modernised forms. 

A new impeachment process for the UK, working in the way set out at length and in detail in my book, is not designed to replace existing political accountability mechanisms, but rather to buttress and support those mechanisms, and draw attention to the great importance for ministers to respect the fundamental principles of good governance and our constitution. 

Chris Monaghan is a Principal Lecturer in Law at the University of Worcester. I am grateful to Professor Robert Blackburn, Professor Matthew Flinders, Professor Alison Young and Professor Mike Gordon for their extremely helpful feedback.

Accountability, the Constitution and Impeachment: The Case for a Modernised Process in the United Kingdom will be published by Routledge in June 2022. 

This post is cross-posted with permission from the United Kingdom Constitutional Law Association Blog and the original post is available here.

(Suggested citation: C. Monaghan, ‘Reimagining impeachment: A new blueprint for our challenging times’, U.K. Const. L. Blog (12th January 2022) (available at https://ukconstitutionallaw.org/)

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Does being watched make MPs behave better? 

By Ben Worthy and Cat Morgan ( Birkbeck, University of London)

One of the central dilemmas of democracy stems from the information gap between voters and those they elect. After politicians are elected, a yawning knowledge gap opens up between the seemingly all-knowing elector and the only occasionally interested or rarely watchful constituents. Of all the information gaps across democracies, this is perhaps the most fundamental, the most fragile – and the most fraught with complications.  

This gap can be both profound and dangerous for democracy. The information asymmetry can mean that once elected, representatives could easily engage in hidden behaviour that runs contrary to what their voters want. As Strom argues, this includes voting against their constituents’ wishes, using their position to make money, or simply not doing their job very well. As we’ve seen from the Brexit votes and, more recently, the lobbying smash and burn U-turn around Owen Patterson, this is not some abstract possibility.  

So how can we stop legislators ‘deviating, rent seeking or shirking’? One way is to simply provide more information or data to voters. Transparency advocates argue that this can have two separate effects. There’s the concrete impact of exposing individual legislator’s behaviour when it’s out of line or out of order. Then there’s a broader effect through ‘anticipated reactions’, meaning that the mere possibility of being watched makes misbehaviour less likely.  

Yet, with these solutions come with a warning. The hoped-for effects hinge, crucially, on if politicians perceive themselves to be watched. It also assumes what watching will then do. Being watched should, in theory, make us behave better, but it can also just make us better at hiding, or even throw the spotlight into the wrong place.  

Watching Parliament in 2021 

Our Leverhulme Trust funded study has looked at who is watching Westminster. Over the last decade, there are certainly many new ways to do so. Since 2005, a host of new formal and informal ‘political observatories’ or  Parliamentary Monitoring Organisations which aim to put ‘politicians permanently on their toes’. A family of political theory label this ‘monitory’ or ‘counter democracy’ and hope it creates permanent accountability and even ‘humility’ among those under observation.  

In the UK, there is now an ecosystem of ever-expanding tools and sources. You can see data direct from Parliament itself detailing attendance, voting and activity. There’s also a growing number of third parties providing monitoring, most famously TheyWorkForYou, providing individuals MPs’ voting and activities, and Public Whip, collecting rebellion data. If the data isn’t there you can ask for it via an FOI, as someone did about Owen Paterson long ago.  

Beyond this, there’s a shifting landscape of searchable digital platforms of MPs’ expenses data, Register of Interests declarations and sites watching everything from Climate Change voting records, which MP earned the highest additional income 2017-2019 (clue-he’s Prime Minister) to the changes made to MPs’ Wikipedia pages. The data is certainly there, but is it having an effect? 

Who is watching? 

For data to have an effect, it needs to be used. Analysis of TheyWorkForYou.com found users to be a mixture of the engaged public, private companies, NGOs, and the media, with most users already engaged or interested in politics. Outside of these usual suspects academics are significant data users, creating detailed analyses of which MPs blocked Brexit.  

Another interesting group of users are MPs themselves and their staff. TWFY cite 2% of all users as coming within the Parliamentary estate. Their use of data seems to be a mixture of research on others, self-defence of their own records, and championing their reputation. Labour MP Madeline Moon used the data to defend her work: 

TheyWorkForYou says that I have above-average commitments in terms of debates, I ask above-average numbers of questions and I have an above-average response to my electorate when I have letters, although I admit that it also indicates that my voting record is lower than some (HC Deb, 26 September 2019, c958) 

Not only the users but the uses are varied, and data are deployed in a seemingly infinite variety of ways. They are deployed heuristically to understand MPs’ voting positions, or inferentially, around lobbying or donations. Aggregated data easily becomes a metric to measure, compare and create yardsticks for what constitutes a ‘good’ or ‘bad’ MP, giving the illusion of objectivity and measurability. 

Once gotten by these groups, data are then picked up or developed by the media, campaigners as well as across social media. After the controversial Owen Paterson ‘standards’ vote data was quickly found on how many of those supporting Paterson had an outside income or were themselves under investigation. The public may become caught up when data is used to drive a narrative, when it is part of a wider campaign or when they purposely or accidentally see a tweet or an article. What happens next can be unexpected. A lot of monitoring fizzles into an angry wave but not always. In 2013, The Sun used voting record data to create a list of the country’s ‘laziest MPs’ featuring Lucy Powell, who quickly pointed out she was on maternity leave. Not only was the article withdrawn, but the controversy helped the push for proxy voting in 2019.  

What impact is it having? 

MPs do feel they are ‘being watched’ and behave according, albeit to very different degrees. The exact impact is highly dependent on the individual, with MPs in safe or unsafe seats likely to behave very differently. It is also dependent on the data itself, as most voting behaviour can (perhaps) be justified in a way that expenses largesse cannot.  

Monitoring and watching have most frequently led to accountability. MPs put out more explanations and justifications in Hansard, on Twitter or in the local press – some of which are anticipated (“how will your MP vote”). In 2020, Conservative MPs voting against the government’s Covid-19 lockdown measures and tier system took to Twitter to explain their decisions – both before and after key votes.  

In terms of any ‘anticipated effect’, there is evidence of some behaviour change when MPs are under scrutiny, with a reluctance to claim expenses (especially by women MPs) in the Commons.  

Beyond the individual data can be used to rank or compare and can become a benchmark, and a basis for a moral judgement. There is evidence that monitoring, as with monitoring data elsewhere, compels members to ‘raise their reputational game’ and to be ‘be seen doing it’ (Mau 2019, 163).  

While this can drive ‘better’ behaviour, can it also lead to gaming? Nick De Bois, an MP with a very slim majority, pointed out  in his memoirs that MPs can speak in debates 

Sometimes…so you can enlighten constituents on your position on any given issue. Either that, or because it’s not a good thing to have against your name ‘Below-average number of speeches in the House of Commons’ on that pesky ‘They Work for You’ website, which relentlessly measures how active you are in the chamber. 

But MPs do not feel they are being watched fairly. They seem to feel that monitoring is skewed or biased. 30 Conservative MPs published an open letter to the Guardian in 2019 complained about being misrepresented on their climate change records and a full 50 complained in a letter to the Head of mySociety in 2021 about the same thing.  

Nor are they being watched evenly. Certain MPs are watched more than others, and there are skews and biases. Moreover, the data only highlights some areas, such as voting or expenses, leaving constituency work or lobbying in darkness.  

Are politicians behaving better?  

More data does make for some better behaviour. Overall, it increases accountability, justification, and explanation – as well as representation. MPs are explaining more and even folding data into their representative performance. It has also created behavioural change and driven measurement rankings, which itself has an anticipatory effect – no MP wants to be on this sort of list.  

Monitoring has a self-perpetuating momentum, and data about MPs staff, familial employees or meetings has shifted the boundaries of what is known about legislators and for what they are accountable. It has opened new areas intentionally or by accident. An MP in 2021 must be aware of their voting record, their attendance and expenses in a way they would not have been in decades past.  

However, Parliament is a political place, so it’s no surprise that data equals political conflict. Data is used by groups against individuals, groups, and the institution for political and partisan reasons. This then provokes, in turn, explanation, resistance and further conflict. Data can sometimes close the gap between voters and legislator, but it can make for more conflict and controversy as it does so. 

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Exposing the hidden wiring of the Parliament

By Ben Yong (Durham University)

‘Who runs the House?’ While most people were watching the Johnson government stumble from one crisis to another in early December 2021, peers in the House of Lords repeatedly asked this question in a rare debate on House governance. How the House of Lords (and Parliament as a whole) is run and the arrangements underpinning that may seem mundane, but ‘mundane’ issues can tell us something about the UK’s constitutional arrangements which are lost in theoretical frameworks such as political and legal constitutionalism, or separation of powers theories which focus on relationships between the branches of government.  

The Lords debate was in part prompted by a House of Lords External Management Review (‘EMR’), published in early 2021, which looked at how the House of Lords is governed and services and support administered. The EMR concluded, amongst other matters, that the accountability arrangements for the administration of the Lords were far from clear. Ultimately, the EMR recommended that the House of Lords Commission needed to be put on a statutory basis; there needed to be a clear statement of the governance arrangements; and a Chief Operating Officer should be appointed.

The debate highlighted that peers’ knowledge of the EMR and the general principles of House governance in the Lords was spotty. Indeed, some peers expressed surprise that the Leader of the House did not, in fact, lead the House (a misconception also common among MPs). Lord Davies’ comment summed up the view of many who attended the debate: ‘The governance of the House is … a mystery to me.’ Other contributions were evidence of Yong’s Law: the longer a debate on House governance continues, the greater the possibility that someone will mention catering, and its cost. Significantly, several Peers expressed fears about the imposition of bureaucratic structures upon a House which had traditionally seen itself as self-regulating.

Anyone with a knowledge of previous reviews of Lords governance would be unsurprised by this, or the EMR’s conclusions and recommendations (for a more in-depth discussion of House governance, see Ben Yong, ‘The Governance of Parliament’ in Alex Horne and Gavin Drewry (eds), Parliament and the Law (2nd edn Hart 2018) 75). Indeed, weak House governance and the confusion of parliamentarians has been a persistent issue in both the Commons and the Lords. 

So what are the governance arrangements of the Houses and why does it matter? Each House has an administrative organisation responsible for providing infrastructure and support for parliamentarians so that they can carry out their constitutional functions. This administration sustains and strengthens the House as an institution. The governance arrangements set out who is in control of the administration; and provide a line of accountability for the provision of that administration. 

One part of the governance arrangements is led by members; the other by officials. In the House of Lords, for instance, on the member side, there is the House of Lords Commission, responsible for political and strategic direction for House administration. The Commission is chaired by the Lord Speaker, and consists of (amongst others) the Leaders of the three parties, the Crossbenchers Convenor and the chairs of certain domestic Committees. Below the Commission are a number of domestic committees which scrutinise the internal working of the House (as opposed to select committees, which scrutinise the work of the executive), and support the Commission. On the official side, there is the Management Board, led by the Clerk of the Parliaments, which is responsible for implementation of Commission policies and day-to-day administration.  

Together these groups work to support peers in their work and maintain the institution. But there are problems. A key one is that the Lords House Commission is structured to be insulated against executive interference: it is cross-party in nature, and there is no government majority. Moreover, the Commission usually meets monthly and membership turnover is uneven (in the Commons, it is less than two years for most members). The result of all these factors is that political will is often lacking, or slow to crystalise. The Commission decides by consensus, if it decides at all. And even where the Commission does agree upon a course of action, it may still require agreement from the House itself. In such a political vacuum, the official-led Administration often cleaves to the status quo. 

There is also a lack of clarity about who is in charge, and therefore, who is accountable. In the debate, peers were quite confused about this. But they are right to be. There are multiple actors with claims to represent institutional interests. Even the titles of key actors suggest conflicting jurisdictional claims: there is a Lord Speaker and a Leader of the House—who is leading or speaking for the House? There is the House of Lords Commission, but as already noted, it is not the most strategic of actors. Nor is it the most visible: meetings are held in private with limited minutes often taking several weeks, if not months, to be published. It has no statutory basis. By contrast, the Clerk of Parliaments does have a statutory basis as Corporate Officer of the House (the Parliamentary Corporate Bodies Act 1992); and in practice is responsible for the day-to-day administration. But as the EMR noted, it is not clear how the Clerk is accountable to the Commission, or indeed, anyone. It is unsurprising there is confusion about who does what in the Lords.

The House of Commons has similar problems. One disgruntled former Clerk of the House gave his book on the House of Commons a harsh subtitle: ‘The Story of an Institution unable to put its own House in order’ (Barnett Cocks Mid-Victorian Masterpiece (1977)). In 2014, an ad hoc committee led by Jack Straw published a review (‘the Straw Review’) on House governance in the Commons. It was the first MP-led review of House governance in over 40 years. The Straw Review found a haphazard set of governance arrangements which lacked clarity; and a Commission which failed to provide adequate direction. 

In a way, the dilemma of governance is the problem of legislatures in condensed form: how can a group of nominally equal members collectively act together when they do not owe each other formal allegiance? With legislation, this problem is usually resolved through party majorities. But where the issue concerns not party, but rather what the institution needs, it is not easy to secure agreement. That is because firstly, it is difficult to turn parliamentarians’ minds to the institution; and secondly, there can be reasonable disagreement about what the institution does need. Without party and a clear set of governance arrangements, inertia and inaction become the obvious default. 

And so the Houses of Parliament are often slow to act on matters outside legislation, because of limited political will and a lack of clarity about who is responsible for what. The 2009 Expenses Scandal was caused in part by a failure of Commons governance to get a grip on the issue. Bullying and harassment of staff by parliamentarians in both the Commons and Lords were also failures of governance. And then there is the ongoing saga of the multibillion Restoration and Renewal (‘R&R’) project of the Palace of Westminster. The Palace is crumbling, and has been for well over a decade. This is in spite of a Joint Committee recommending a full decant from the Palace and sponsor and delivery bodies set up by statute. The Houses continue to dither and delay on timing (on R&R, see the untiring and ongoing work of Dr Alexandra Meakin).

So what? Why should we care? For one thing, the Commissions are primarily responsible for their respective House budgets—which together amounted to just under a billion pounds in 2020-1. This is not small money (although dwarfed by the budgets of the large Whitehall departments: the Home Office budget, for instance, was £16 billion in 2020-1). The governance arrangements can determine what resources are given to parliamentarians and committees. The Houses’ budgets matter, therefore, because they shape the capacity of Parliament to carry out its functions (Colin Lee and I discuss this in a chapter in the forthcoming third edition of Parliament and the Law). 

But more importantly, one reason for executive dominance over the legislature is that Parliament finds it difficult to act coherently: it is hobbled by a lack of clear leadership. Mainstream public lawyers have focused so much on the courts and issues like the location of sovereignty or legislative intent that they neglect the concrete institutional particularities of Parliament. This is not about political versus legal constitutionalism, and prioritising the ‘political’ over the ‘legal’. Rather, this is about recognising that there is more to each branch than its relationship with the others; that each branch has its own internal issues which may impede its effective functioning. Failures of governance can impact on the institution’s performance and ultimately, its legitimacy. ‘Mundane’ issues such as House governance and administration may be ‘constitutional’ matters as much as parliamentary sovereignty or legislative intent. 

My thanks to Arabella Lang, Alexandra Meakin and Patrick O’Brien for their comments on an earlier draft.

Dr Ben Yong, Associate Professor of Public Law and Human Rights, Durham Law School

This post was originally published on the UK Constitutional Law Association’s Blog. Thank you to the editors and Dr Ben Yong for allowing us to cross-post.

You can view the original post here: https://ukconstitutionallaw.org/2022/01/10/ben-young-exposing-the-hidden-wiring-of-the-parliament/

The suggested citation: B. Young, ‘Exposing the hidden wiring of the Parliament’, U.K. Const. L. Blog (10th January 2022) (available at https://ukconstitutionallaw.org/))

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“Tread carefully” – the UK Parliament as a human rights “defender” within the Northern Ireland devolution framework.


Leah Rea examines the role of the UK Parliament in ensuring compliance with the UK’s obligations under international human rights law within the context of devolution, in the absence of legislative intervention from successive UK Governments to address inaction by the Northern Ireland Executive.

Human rights discourse occupies a prominent role in Northern Ireland’s politics, with the issue of rectifying state non-action of protection of human rights arguably as old as the province itself. As evidenced by both historic and contemporary legislative records, the progression of human rights standards in Northern Ireland has always been problematic. The example of the 1960s civil rights movement illustrates both the historic propensity for the politicisation of human rights in the region, and the difficulty of securing legislative change in i) the absence of progression at devolved level, and ii) the absence of intervention by the UK Government, particularly when the Government evades international obligations. In recent years, the discussion has been framed within the context of devolution, focusing on where does legislative competency reside, and specifically, at what political juncture can legislative intervention be sought from the UK Parliament to rectify human rights issues in Northern Ireland? As we wait on the Northern Ireland Office (‘NIO’) to implement the pledge made by the Secretary of State for Northern Ireland to introduce the draft Irish language legislationpublished in conjunction with The New Decade, New Approach Agreement 2020, it is worth recalling the UK Parliament’s role as a human rights “defender” vis-á-vis the operation of the Sewel Convention in the context of Northern Ireland’s abortion law between 2018-2019.

Using parliamentary procedure to highlight human rights

Following an early election in March 2017, agreement to form the Northern Ireland Executive could not be reached and subsequently the devolved institutions did not function in Northern Ireland until January 2020. During this time, there were key developments in the recognition of the human rights violations arising from the then law governing abortion in Northern Ireland. In light of these, parliamentary procedure was utilised within the House of Commons to raise the particular matter of human rights in relation to abortion law in Northern Ireland, the UK Government’s corresponding non-compliance with international human rights law, and the need for legislative intervention in the absence of the devolved institutions.

Emergency Debate and navigating Sewel

Following the referendum result to repeal the Eighth Amendment to the Irish Constitution, the constitutional prohibition on accessing abortion, grassroots movements in Northern Ireland called for urgent legal reform to address widening geographical disparity in abortion access and human rights. With the Abortion Act 1967 limited in territorial application to Great Britain, the then legal framework in Northern Ireland comprised of sections 58 and 59 of the Offences Against the Person Act 1861: abortion was only legal to protect the mother’s life, or cases where her mental and/or physical health was seriously at risk, and could not be accessed in cases of Fatal Fetal Abnormality (FFA), rape and incest. 

The development invoked fresh political impetus: Labour backbencher Stella Creasy MP utilised Standing Orders (No 24) to bring an emergency debate to the House of Commons on 5 June 2018 for the House to consider its role in repealing sections 58 and 59 of the 1861 Act. Creasy aimed to bring the operational impact of the 1861 Act to the attention of the House – and commence the argument that in the absence of a sitting Assembly, it was the responsibility of the UK Government under international human rights law to legislate to address human rights violations in Northern Ireland. 

In the context of Northern Ireland, Creasy referenced the findings of the UN CEDAW Committee inquiry that women and girls had been subjected to “grave and systemic violations of rights”. Conscious there were concerns regarding undermining the constitutional arrangements of devolution, Creasy emphasised the 1861 Act continued to operate across the UK, so Parliament was required to act to remedy the issue on a UK-wide basis. However, she noted the Belfast/Good Friday Agreement 1998 provided for the UK Government “to legislate as necessary” to ensure the UK’s “international obligations” are met in respect of Northern Ireland. Conversely, the then Secretary of State for Northern Ireland upheld the Sewel Convention, stating as abortion was a devolved matter it “would not be appropriate for Westminster” to intervene. Ultimately, the House resolved its affirmation of the motion – and its role as a human rights “defender”.

The Urgent Question and a change in tactics

Shortly after the emergency debate, on 7 June 2018, the UK Supreme Court delivered its judgment in the judicial review brought by the NIHRC against the Department of Justice under the Human Rights Act 1998 on the basis the existing law violated Articles 3, 8 and 14 ECHR of women and girls by criminalising abortion access for FFA, rape and incest. A majority of the Court determined the law was incompatible with Art 8 ECHR in respect of not providing access to women and girls in these circumstances. Responding to the judgment, Creasy availed of procedure to ask an urgent question. In this instance, Creasy directly challenged the Secretary of State for Northern Ireland on the Government’s position of the incompatibility of the 1861 Act with human rights, further urging for the Government to progress the draft Domestic Abuse Bill and adopt it as a vehicle to repeal sections 58 and 59 on a UK-wide basis. She called upon the House, with “its responsibility” under the 1998 Agreement to uphold human rights in Northern Ireland, to “do our job” and call for legislative action. Again, the Secretary of State for Northern Ireland invoked the Sewel convention, asserting the matter was within the legislative competence of the devolved institutions and so the responsibility of Northern Ireland politicians alone, and would not commit to recognising the UK Government’s obligations under international law.

Westminster intervenes: the Northern Ireland (Executive Formation) Bill

Political negotiations continued in Northern Ireland throughout 2019, and by June 2019 the period outlined within s1 of the Northern Ireland (Executive Formation and Exercise of Functions) Act 2018 for Executive formation had expired. To enable the continuation of negotiations, the Secretary of State introduced The Northern Ireland (Executive Formation) Bill to extend the available timeframe. Illustrating the UK Government’s need for the Bill to come into effect promptly, the Bill was subjected to a fast-track process. Whilst this process usually restricts Parliament’s ability to scrutinise Government Bills, in this instance the accelerated schedule proved feasible for tricky amendments to challenge the Government to uphold its international obligations. Creasy availed of the situation, tabling an amendment (New Clause 10) which obligated the Secretary of State, in the event of continued absence of devolved government in Northern Ireland, to implement the 2018 recommendations of the UN CEDAW Committee. This marked a significant change in Creasy’s tactics: here now was an attempt for direct legislative action from Westminster to rectify human rights issues in Northern Ireland. The Sewel Convention notwithstanding, the amendment was accepted by the Speaker’s Office for consideration.

Proposing her amendment at Committee stage, Creasy acknowledged the House must “tread carefully” in relation to achieving a balance between respecting the devolution arrangement and upholding human rights standards, but affirmed the role of Parliament as a human rights “defender”, emphasising the obligations of the House in accordance with the Belfast/Good Friday Agreement as regards safeguarding human rights in Northern Ireland. She submitted the UK Parliament had failed to adhere to its obligations and had a responsibility to intervene in the continued absence of devolved government. 

Responding for the Government, Minister for the NIO, John Penrose stated devolved issues should be the responsibility of the devolved institutions; Parliament should “tread carefully” within the devolved context. The pattern of affirming Sewel then ceased, as the Minister acknowledged the prolonged absence of devolved government in Northern Ireland, and “the result” of which was the list of human rights related amendments. The Minister further noted amendments on issues of conscience, such as the Creasy amendment, were “traditionally free votes” and confirmed the Government would not “break that important principle”. In the absence of a whipping operation Creasy’s amendment was approved by a parliamentary landslide of 332 votes to 99. The Bill as amended was subsequently carried at Third Reading and came into force on 9 July 2018. 

Whither Sewel?

It is interesting to chart the developments in this case study as regards navigating the Sewel Convention. Creasy initially sought to uphold Sewel: her original proposal was for the May Government to repeal the relevant sections of the1861 Act via the draft Domestic Abuse Bill and on a UK-wide basis, using the situation of human rights concerns in Northern Ireland as grounds for the necessity of this. However, following the judgment of the Supreme Court just two days later, Creasy emphasised the House’s particular role under the 1998 Agreement as regards human rights in Northern Ireland and urged for the May Government to directly intervene in light of the political vacuum in Northern Ireland. Her successful amendment to the 2019 Act therefore marked a turning point for the Sewel Convention, suggesting that in the event of a human rights violation in the devolved administrations, the UK institutions may intervene on the grounds of their role as final guarantors of human rights obligations in international law. Can we now interpret “will not normally legislate” in the context of upholding international human rights? Equally, we must consider that the requirement of consent under Sewel was a determining factor: in the absence of the devolved institutions, consent could not be acquired.

Moreover, the case study appears to suggest in the situation of a conflict between the convention of free votes upon conscience issues and the Sewel convention affirming devolved legislative competencies, the former takes precedence. Could the role of the UK Parliament as a human rights “defender” depend on individual Parliamentarians according to their own conscience? Or, was relying on the conscience convention an exercise in political expedience for the May Government to navigate the situation Creasy had created with her significant amendment in a tight timeframe? As the NIO recently introduced the The Abortion (Northern Ireland) Regulations 2021 – which empower the Secretary of State to issue direction to comply with the 2018 UN CEDAW Committee recommendations in Northern Ireland – in light of ongoing failure of the Northern Ireland Executive to fully commission abortion services, and so continuing with Westminster intervention in Northern Ireland, the situation on a contentious issue remains complex. The problem of human rights progression in Northern Ireland goes on.

Leah is a PhD Researcher at the Transitional Justice Institute at Ulster University. Her research focuses on examining the relationship between constitutional conventions established by devolution settlements, and the progression (or hindrance) of human rights standards in Northern Ireland. This blog post is based on a paper delivered at the PSA Parliaments Conference 2021.

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The Owen Patterson Scandal: Standards, Trust and Democratic Norms

By Chris Monaghan, Caroline Bhattacharya and Alexandra Meakin

NB The views expressed in this blog post do not reflect the view of PSA Parliaments

The resignation of Owen Paterson as Member of Parliament for North Shropshire, following revelations that he had been paid half a million pounds to lobby ministers has highlighted  what may be an uncomfortable truth, that many MPs supplement their parliamentary salary with taking on second or indeed third jobs. The extent of this practice has been forced into the open, with newspaper reports highlighting that the former Attorney-General Sir Geoffrey Cox had spent substantial time undertaking paid work (earning £700,000) for the British Virgin Islands. 

The focus on this blog will be the Paterson scandal. The blog will outline the events that gave rise to the controversial attempt by the government to protect Paterson from sanction, and in doing so revealed the problems with regulating the conduct of Members of Parliament and holding them to account for engaging in lobbying. The blog will then place the scandal within a broader context. 

Factual background

In response to the revelation in The Guardian that Paterson had been paid £500,000 to lobby ministers, an investigation was commenced by the Parliamentary Standards Commissioner, Kathryn Stone, who found that Paterson had  breached the rules relating to paid advocacy, declaration of interests, and the use of parliamentary facilities. Her findings were considered by the House of Commons Standards Committee—comprising four Conservative MPs, two Labour MPs, one Scottish National Party MP and seven lay members—who concluded:

“This is an egregious case of paid advocacy. Previous instances have led to suspensions of 18 days, 30 days and six months. Each of Mr Paterson’s several instances of paid advocacy would merit a suspension of several days, but the fact that he has repeatedly failed to perceive his conflict of interest and used his privileged position as a Member of Parliament to secure benefits for two companies for whom he was a paid consultant, is even more concerning. He has brought the House into disrepute. We therefore recommend that Mr Paterson be suspended from the service of the House for 30 sitting days”.

It is customary for the recommendations of the Standards Committee to be approved by MPs without a vote. Ahead of the vote on the suspension of Paterson, however, the former Leader of the House of Commons, Dame Andrea Leadsom, tabled an amendment, signed by 59 MPs, to the motion, declining to endorse the suspension until and if by a specially-formed select committee reviewed the “clearly flawed” standards system for MPs. The Government enforced a three-line whip on the vote and Dame Andrea’s amendment was passed by 250 to 232 Members of Parliament, with only two non-Conservative MPs voting in favour (one of whom was Rob Roberts MP, who had been elected as a Conservative prior to losing the Whip when he was suspended for a separate breach of standards rules). (It is important to note, however, that from the Conservative backbenches, 98 MPs did not vote and thirteen voted against the government). 

Any celebrations for ministers were short-lived, however, as the Government was forced into a U-turn almost immediately when the opposition parties made clear that they would not serve on the proposed new select committee. Just hours after the Leader of the Commons, Jacob Rees-Mogg, pledged to work on a “cross-party basis to achieve improvements in our system for future cases”, Paterson resigned as a Member of Parliament, triggering a by-election for December 2021. The Government’s initial approach was heavily criticised and it was seen by opponents and many commentators as shielding one of its own supporters and undermining the accountability of members for breaches of parliamentary rules. Ministers have acknowledged the Government’s mistake and described the U-Turn as the ‘grown-up thing’ to do (Nadhim Zahawi MP, BBC News). The Government has formally asked the Commons to rescind the motion establishing the new Committee, and Paterson’s resignation has meant that he will avoid any suspension. 

Analysis 

Paterson has resigned, the government has apologised and conceded its mistake. However, this does not negate the sense of double standards and the concern that the Johnson administration is further tarred with the taint of corruption. It has further reignited debate over the number of Members of Parliament who have second jobs. While MPs are barred from acting as “a paid advocate in any proceeding of the House”, there is no universal restriction on second jobs.  Just under a third of all Members of Parliament have additional income to their official parliamentary salary, and although this does not just affect one party (the Leader of the Official Opposition, Sir Keir Starmer reportedly received £70,000 for legal advice from private companies), the party with the highest proportion of MPs with second jobs is the Conservative Party (It should be noted that neither Sir Geoffrey Cox nor Sir Keir Starmer are accused of engaging in lobbying on behalf of their clients). A study by Weschle shows that Conservative MPs with a second job ask more parliamentary questions, and that these questions are targeted at larger ministries with more procurement spending and often concern internal policies (such as the state or planning of projects). 

There have been some defences of outside interests: Cabinet Office Minister Steve Barclay argued that there is “value in MPs having a continued connection with the world outside of politics”. Legal commentator Joshua Rozenberg has defended Sir Geoffrey Cox, partly due to the need to attract practicing lawyers to serve both in Parliament and as law officers—the ministerial roles of attorney general, solicitor general and advocate general for Scotland. Such arguments have often caused past efforts to bar MPs from holding certain outside interests to fail to gather sufficient support (e.g. the Private Members’ Bills tabled by Peter Bradley in 2002 and Martin Salter in 2007 and the Committee on Standards in Public Life’s recommendations in 2018). Following the Paterson scandal, however, Sir Keir Starmer’s intention to table a motion to ban MPs from paid consultancies or directorships may prove more successful.

The broader decline of trust in parliamentarians and Parliament itself is a matter of concern. New polling by the Committee on Standards of Public Life found that 44% of people rated the standards of conduct of MPs as quite or very low, compared to only 20% taking a positive view, and noted the progressively lower scores reported since 2002. The Hansard Society’s latest Audit of Political Engagement found that 72% of the public believe that our system of parliamentary government needs ‘quite a lot’ or ‘a great deal’ of improvement. 

In their book How democracies die: What history tells us about our future, Levitsky and Ziblatt remind us that “[d]emocratic backsliding today begins at the ballot box” (p. 5). In other words, nowadays it is more often elected governments than men with arms who seek to undermine democracy, and often “democracies erode slowly, in barely visible steps” (p. 3). Democracy is safeguarded by institutions such as parliament and written laws and rules upheld by independent courts, but, Levitsky and Ziblatt argue, at least as important are unwritten democratic norms:

Norms are […] shared codes of conduct that become common knowledge within a particular community or society – accepted, respected, and enforced by its members. Because they are unwritten, they are often hard to see, especially when they’re functioning well. […] Like oxygen or clean water, a norm’s importance is quickly revealed by its absence. When norms are strong, violations trigger expressions of disapproval, ranging from head-shaking and ridicule to public criticism and outright ostracism. And politicians who violate them can expect to pay a price. (p. 102)

When applying these arguments to the parliamentary setting, we can make a strong case that parliament as a democratic institution and the norms that underpin parliamentary democracy need to be defended first and foremost from within. And this task does not fall merely on the shoulders of the Speaker of the House of Commons as the highest representative of parliament and ‘conductor’ of parliamentary proceedings, but is a responsibility that should be shared by all parliamentary actors.

The main problem was not Owen Paterson. (There will always be some bad apples among the bunch.) The key issue was that the government – with the help of their Commons majority and key parliamentary figures such as the current and former Leaders of the House – (a) denied the legitimacy of the outcome of the parliamentary procedure to investigate and sanction MPs’ rule-breaching behaviour and (b) proposed to overhaul the institutional system for evaluating parliamentary standards, also retrospectively for the Paterson case.

Lord Evans, Chair of the Committee on Standards in Public Life, said on 4 November:

[I]t cannot be right to propose that the standards system in the House of Commons should be reviewed by a Select Committee chaired by a member of the ruling party, and with a majority of members from that same party. This extraordinary proposal is deeply at odds with the best traditions of British democracy. The political system in this country […] is a common good that we have all inherited from our forebears and that we all have a responsibility to preserve and to improve.

The two important norms at play here are the acceptance of outcomes of democratic processes (in this case the standards inquiry system) and what Levitsky and Ziblatt call ‘institutional forbearance’, that is the exercise of self-restraint and acting not only in the letters of the law but also in its spirit. The government’s actions in parliament undermined both these values. By imposing a three-line whip on its MPs, the government did not only interfere in what is generally seen as parliamentary business but also signalled that defiance would be considered a serious breach of party loyalty with potential consequences. (Angela Richardson, who abstained, lost her job as a Parliamentary private secretary – before being reappointed after the government’s U-turn.)

High levels of party unity are a key feature of a well-functioning parliamentary system. But a parliamentary party group cannot always be perfectly cohesive in their viewpoints, and when divergence emerges, party leaders usually have an array of institutional tools at their disposal to impose discipline. During every MP’s time in office, occasions will arise when their constituency interests and/or personal views and convictions will stand at odds with the official party line. Those are the moments when an MP needs to decide whether to stay silent for the sake of party loyalty or publicly communicate and act on their dissent, in full awareness that a roll-call vote stays in the historical records. When the issue at stake is not a specific policy but essential democratic norms and procedures, the option to stay silent is a particularly serious one, as MPs fail to fulfil their role as guardians of parliamentary democracy.

On 3 November, 248 Conservative MPs voted in favour of the Leadsom amendment, 13 voted against and a few more abstained and publicly voiced their objection such as the ‘Father of the House’, Sir Peter Bottomley. The government’s U-turn indicates that the broad public outrage and presumably conversations among members of the Conservative Party behind closed doors (and sometimes apparently in semi-public view) have succeeded in safeguarding parliamentary democracy in this instance. But this was not the first time and is unlikely to be the last time that the Johnson government seeks to tighten the executive grip on parliament, and that Conservative MPs must decide when the defence of the role of parliament, democratic norms and ethical principles is more important than party-political goals and personal ambitions.

This post was originally published on the Political Studies Association Blog.

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