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How Sunak can restore integrity, professionalism and accountability

Meg Russell, Alan Renwick, Sophie Andrews-McCarroll and Lisa James argue that for Rishi Sunak to keep his promise to put integrity, professionalism and accountability at the heart of his government, he must strengthen the standards system, enhance parliamentary scrutiny, defend the rule of law, abide by constitutional norms and defend checks and balances.

In his first speech as Prime Minister, Rishi Sunak promised to put integrity, professionalism and accountability in government at the heart of his premiership. This promise is to be warmly welcomed – commentators and experts have raised consistent alarms about slipping constitutional standards in recent years, and research shows that the public care deeply about honesty and integrity in their politicians.

But what might such a pledge look like in reality? Against the backdrop of Boris Johnson’s resignation this summer, precipitated by concerns about his approach to standards, integrity and accountability, an earlier post on this blog issued five questions for the then leadership candidates to address on rebuilding constitutional standards and restoring integrity. The subsequent premiership of Liz Truss aptly demonstrated these questions’ continuing relevance. This new post returns to the five core tasks, links them to Sunak’s stated goals, and suggests what his government might do to meet them. It demonstrates close agreement with proposals by respected experts from other bodies in response to Sunak’s pledge.

  1. Strengthening the standards system

The system for maintaining government and parliamentary standards was placed under great stress during the Johnson premiership. Successive Independent Advisers on Ministers’ Interests resigned, ministers unwisely attempted to derail a House of Commons Committee on Standards investigation, and a Privileges Committee inquiry into whether Johnson himself misled parliament is ongoing. Truss’s subsequent claim that her personal integrity was a sufficient bulwark against standards breaches fell far short of the serious commitment to institutional arrangements needed to safeguard integrity.

Rishi Sunak’s commitment to appointing a new Independent Adviser on Ministers’ Interests, expressed during the summer leadership contest, and repeated by the Minister for the Cabinet Office, Jeremy Quin, yesterday in the House of Commons (albeit following the somewhat problematic reappointment of Suella Braverman), is therefore welcome and important. Sunak should also move to strengthen the existing system. The independent Committee on Standards in Public Life (CSPL) made recommendations last year to increase the effectiveness of the Independent Adviser, including by giving them the power to initiate investigations into alleged breaches of the Ministerial Code. This proposal, along with various others made by CSPL – such as placing more regulatory codes and roles on a statutory footing – is currently before parliament, via a private members’ bill introduced by Lord (David) Anderson of Ipswich. Providing government backing for the Anderson bill would be one clear and simple way for Sunak to demonstrate his commitment to integrity.

  • Rebuilding the scrutiny role of parliament

A further crucial mechanism for both professionalism and accountability lies in the scrutiny role played by parliamentarians. Recent years have seen increasing concerns raised about rushed legislation, the heavy use of delegated powers, evasion of select committee scrutiny, and the problems that these cause: both in terms of democratic principles and the increased risk of poorly thought-through policy. The Truss mini-budget was given only two hours for debate in the Commons, compared to the usual five or so days for a budget, despite the scale of its content.

Some of these problems can be addressed by setting clear expectations of ministers – for example, that they will prioritise select committee attendance. Others will require Sunak to address the mechanisms by which his predecessors limited parliamentary oversight of their policy-making. The Retained EU Law (Revocation and Reform) Bill, which is currently in the early stages of its parliamentary passage, offers an early opportunity to do this. Various experts have criticised the scale of the delegated powers that the bill would give to ministers, allowing thousands of pieces of law to be amended or scrapped with only minimal parliamentary oversight. The extent of the ministerial powers in the Northern Ireland Protocol Bill, currently before the House of Lords, has likewise caused alarm. It is probable that the House of Lords will seek to increase the parliamentary controls on the delegated powers contained in both bills; government openness to such amendments would be a further indication that the Sunak administration is serious about getting democratic accountability back on track.

  • Defending the rule of law

Integrity and accountability in government both demand a renewed commitment to the rule of law, and to respecting both domestic and international legal obligations.

Domestically, there have been attacks on the courts, as further outlined below. And ministers have too often resorted to using ‘ouster clauses’ to remove certain areas of decision-making from legal challenge.

Significant concerns have also been raised about the willingness of both the Johnson and Truss governments to risk breaching international law. The most high-profile instances of this have concerned their approach to the Northern Ireland Protocol. Sunak now inherits the Northern Ireland Protocol Bill, which began its life under Johnson and was championed by Truss. The bill, which is currently before the House of Lords, has been described as ‘not constitutional’ by the (Conservative) chair of the Commons Northern Ireland Affairs Committee, and as a departure from the UK’s international obligations by the chair (again Conservative) of the Commons Justice Committee. The Lords is expected to amend the bill significantly, at a minimum to raise the bar which ministers must meet if they wish to breach international law. Sunak should think carefully before whipping his MPs to vote against such amendments when they return to the Commons, and should put significant efforts in the meantime into finding a negotiated solution to the Protocol controversy.

  • Abiding by long-established constitutional norms

Also essential to integrity, professionalism and accountability is adherence to the conventions and traditions which underpin the UK’s political constitution. One important step would be a pledge to abide by the recommendations of the House of Lords Appointments Commission, which vets peerage nominees for propriety – which Johnson didn’t do. Sunak should also take care over the number of members appointed to the Lords – Johnson’s appointments (87 while in officeplus another 26 handed on to Truss, and others possibly to follow) flouted the recommendations of the committee established by the Lord Speaker to manage down the size of the chamber. Excessive prime ministerial patronage is deeply unpopular with the public, and Sunak should return to the standards of restraint established by Theresa May.

The Johnson government was also notable for its willingness to risk drawing the monarchy into political controversy – whether through the unlawful prorogation, suggestions in 2019 that he might ‘dare the Queen to sack him’, or his reluctance earlier this year to rule out requesting a dissolution of parliament in order to circumvent his removal from office by his own MPs. This indicated a willingness to push constitutional arrangements to their limits, and undermine the non-political status of the monarch. The Sunak government should resolutely avoid taking such risks.

  • Defending political institutions and checks and balances

Finally, a critical aspect of restoring professionalism to public life is repairing the relationships between government and the various constitutional actors which provide institutional checks and balances in policy-making. In addition to parliament, these include the courts, regulators and the civil service. One simple way of demonstrating respect for these institutions would be to avoid the kind of rhetorical attacks on the judiciary, legal professionals, and civil servants which appeared to be sanctioned by both Johnson and Truss. Sunak should also refuse to tolerate the scapegoating of senior civil servants – seen most recently through the unorthodox sacking of Tom Scholar.

The Johnson and Truss governments sought in particular to sideline institutions which they saw as defenders of ‘orthodoxy’. While policy disagreements are legitimate, attempts to shut down or circumvent potential critics are incompatible with professionalism in government. Such efforts were most recently evident in the Truss government’s attempt to bypass the usual independent economic assessments for its mini-budget, and strained relationship with the Bank of England – with very damaging effect. Sunak has promised a different approach, and this welcome recognition of the value of checks and balances should extend to other areas.

Conclusion

For Rishi Sunak to emphasise integrity, professionalism and accountability as central to his leadership is not only constitutionally sound, but also politically astute. Recent Constitution Unit research has shown that members of the public care deeply about honesty and integrity in their politicians. They support an independent and professional civil service, a stronger role for regulators, an ongoing, powerful role for the courts in preventing abuses, and deeper parliamentary scrutiny and accountability. There will be ample opportunities for Rishi Sunak to demonstrate his commitment to these principles in the coming weeks and months.

About the authors

Meg Russell FBA is Professor of British and Comparative Politics at UCL and Director of the Constitution Unit.

Alan Renwick is Professor of Democratic Politics at UCL and Deputy Director of the Constitution Unit.

Sophie Andrews-McCarroll is Impact Research Fellow at the Constitution Unit.

Lisa James is a Research Fellow in the Constitution Unit.

This blog post was originally published on the Constitution Unit’s Blog. We are grateful to the Constitution Unit for allowing us to republish the post. You can see the original post here: https://constitution-unit.com/2022/10/27/how-sunak-can-restore-integrity-professionalism-and-accountability/

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There’s a time and place for prorogation — and this is it

As I sit and watch the turmoil at Westminster on the morning (afternoon in London) that Liz Truss announced her resignation; the morning that the 1922 Committee of Conservative backbenchers scramble to find a leader in a week’s time; a seemingly firm date of October 31 for a budget statement from a recently appointed Chancellor of the Exchequer; and cries for an election, there seems to be no way forward that does not continue the chaos.  But there just may be a way to calm the waters somewhat.  A proper and timely use of prorogation.

Prorogation, where one session of Parliament ends and a new session is prepared for, has received much negative press and commentary in the last few years, in the UK and in Canada.   It has been seen as a way for a Prime Minister and a government to avoid facing Parliament when there was an imminent need for a decision of Parliament.   But there are times when prorogation is appropriate.  In most cases it is used when a parliamentary session has effectively exhausted the government’s agenda and there is a belief that the government needs to set out the next stages of its “new” agenda for the following session.  In some countries this is effectively set as an annual or biannual process, in others it is discretionary.  In either case, there is also room for the Prime Minister to ask for the King to prorogue Parliament as a necessary re-set button, either when a new King’s Speech is required to address an emergency, or to set out a new way forward for the government in light of changed circumstances.  Sometimes, such pauses are just necessary to stop, rethink, plan and explain a way forward.  The present circumstances would, I suggest, be such a cas, although some consideration would have to be given to ensuring that legislation that meets the revised agenda, or to meet urgent needs is carried forward in the next session.   

The way forward would be for the Conservative party to choose a leader, have the King appoint them as Prime Minster, then have that person request that Parliament be prorogued for a couple of weeks to allow them to put a cabinet together, prepare an agenda, and then to have that agenda presented to Parliament through a King’s Speech. There would then follow debate and a vote of the House of Commons in support of the Speech or else defeat and an election.  This process would allow the new Prime Minister to gather their thoughts, form a cabinet with appropriate deliberation, and present a coherent plan to Parliament to be aired and discussed before specific actions are taken.  It would also result in the constitutional legitimacy that the House of Commons can provide by voting on the King’s Speech.  

No doubt there will be those who will argue that this is merely a political tactic and an attempt to govern without facing Parliament. Or else they will claim it is a way to avoid addressing the urgent needs of the country in difficult economic and international times.  Surely, a short pause for a new Prime Minister and their cabinet to work their way through the issues, consult with the cabinet, the caucus, the public service, experts and concerned parties, is better than trying to address the issues piecemeal and in short soundbites amid the clamouring from all directions.

For those who argue that there has been a promise to deliver a much need economic update or mini-budget on or before October 31, otherwise the country and the economy will lose the confidence of the international community and the public, one need only look at the rushed and ill considered economic policies made by Liz Truss without fully thinking them through.  By setting a timeline that would result in a Prime Minister being chosen by next Friday and expecting such a major economic statement the following Monday, the scene is set for history to repeat itself.  While the country and the economic world need an indication of how the UK proposes to address the serious issues of inflation, income security and energy sustainability, the new Prime Minister and Chancellor will undoubtedly be granted the time necessary to put together a considered and responsive budget.  It is also more likely that the public and international markets will accept and understand the position of the budget if it is set within the context of an overall government agenda laid out in a King’s Speech.  Calm and measured is often what is needed, not bold and reckless – just to meet an artificial deadline set by predecessors.

There are, and will continue to be, those who argue that an election is needed and that whoever is chosen as Prime Minister will lack any mandate to govern.  While it may be true that the Prime Minister and their government will not have faced the electorate as such, the Westminster system of government is not one that works in such a straight line.  The question of legitimacy and capacity to govern is one that is based on parliamentary support and confidence, with the public having the ability to judge what has occurred in the previous Parliament, as much as looking forward to the next.  The Prime Minister and cabinet emerge from the various members of the House of Commons.  It is the Commons, as a collection of elected representatives, that determines who is best able to govern.  The Commons, by its votes on major proposals and legislation demonstrates confidence in the government and continually tests the government as it delivers on its proposed agenda and faces events that arise during the life of the Parliament. Although the most visible test of confidence comes in the form of a straight-up motion of non-confidence, votes on major government initiatives can also demonstrate confidence.  The Commons is given the opportunity to discuss the proposed agenda through votes on, among other matters, the King’s Speech and budgetary matters   It is the Commons, as representatives, not the public, that decides these issues during the life of a Parliament.  We elect Parliaments (members of the House of Commons) not governments.  

Immediately following an election, we look to the make-up of Parliament to determine who is likely to be called on as Prime Minister to form a government.  It may be the existing Prime Minister, who had the confidence of the previous House of Commons, or it may be a new Prime Minister.  If a new Prime Minister, they may be given a slightly longer period of time to form a government and prepare a King’s Speech to open the new Parliament.  It is in that Parliament that the new Prime Minister is tested and secures the legitimacy to govern.   It is at this time, and through this mechanism, that the new Prime Minister sets out their agenda and seeks support of the government’s mandate.  Although a bit more traumatic, and possibly chaotic, sometimes it is necessary to choose a new Prime Minister during the course of a sitting Parliament.  In such circumstances, it is arguably only right that they have the same opportunity as a Prime Minister appointed following an election to choose their cabinet from members of the House of Commons, set their own course of action in the circumstances, and to present them to and have them tested in Parliament, in the same manner.

For comparison, when dissolution occurs, Parliament ends for the length of the election and the time to put a government together and prepare a King’s Speech and for the Prime Minister to meet Parliament.  This can take longer when there is a change of Prime Minister and there is a question of who should be called on to take on that role.  There is no parliamentary business, budget or focussed parliamentary debate during this time.   Although Parliament ceases to exist during this time, the previous Prime Minister and government continue to govern, albeit in a reduced capacity.   In the present circumstances, if the Prime Minister has resigned, another person would still need to be called on to be Prime Minister, thus leading to a different type of constitutional “crisis”.   It is also noted that a dissolution is considerably longer than a prorogation, which suspends Parliament for a shorter, defined period, and allows Parliament to be recalled to consider a new Agenda, or at least to address enough of the issues required to provide the degree of stability that might be required to cover the dissolution and election period.  

Elections are not the only safety valve in a Westminster democracy.  Prorogation as a reset can provide a similar respite when necessary.  

Many events occur during the life of a Parliament which the public looks to the Parliament and the government to resolve.  Economic challenges, wars, international crises, natural disasters and political change.  Over the course of five years, the economic, international and political landscapes change.  Political fortunes, membership and leadership of the various parties and caucus also change.   When such changes occur the Parliament that was elected is required to change with them.   In some such cases, the government through the testing of Parliament requires a reset.   In the present circumstances, a new Prime Minister taking a short pause, preparing an agenda and seeking a new mandate through the elected House of Commons, could provide the stability, even if temporary, that the UK needs. Whether Parliament supports the new Prime Minister, the government and the direction proposed in the King’s Speech, or whether Parliament believes it is time for the electorate to decide, is a decision for the House of Commons.   Whether they have made the right decision will ultimately be decided by the electorate.

The present situation is like the driver who tries to fix the engine of a moving car while keeping the car on the road at the same time.  It’s just better to pull the car to the side of the road, fix the car, read the map, and then get back on the road.

Steven Chaplin, Adjunct Professor Common Law and Fellow uOttawa Public Law Centre

This blog post was originally published on the UK Constitutional Law Blog. The original post is available here:

S. Chaplin, ‘There’s a Time and Place for Prorogation—and this is it’, U.K. Const. L. Blog (25th October 2022) https://ukconstitutionallaw.org/2022/10/25/steven-chaplin-theres-a-time-and-place-for-prorogation-and-this-is-it/

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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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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. 

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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.

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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.