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    Educating the Nation Archived Message

    Posted by Keith-264 on April 3, 2019, 11:25 am

    https://www.lrb.co.uk/v41/n08/jonathan-parry/educating-the-nation

    [Paging Mr Pangloss, paging Mr Pangloss]

    Jonathan Parry

    The clue is in the name. Parliament is designed for talk – for the expression of opinion and criticism. Pundits, particularly in the 19th century, wrote about ‘parliamentary government’ as the nation’s pride and Britain’s gift to a less fortunate world, but they did not mean that Parliament should actually govern. It would zealously check an overmighty executive, and scrutinise hasty ideas, but was not in itself a decisive body. Only when its members were whipped into parties and marshalled by a government could it ever become so. The historic role of Parliament is as a brake on precipitate action, a mechanism for delaying laws and change until they seem likely to command consent and benefit the polity. Delay was also thought to minimise the risk of subsequent repeal. In 1864 Gladstone claimed that was why ‘we always progress, never retrace our steps.’

    This was a conservative definition of progress. Parliament’s deliberative function was exercised by a social elite: MPs needed a substantial private income in the years before salaries were introduced in 1911. The main aim was to prevent destabilising radical initiatives. Walter Bagehot’s The English Constitution (1867), the most famous defence of parliamentary government, was quite explicit about that. Written during a fervent campaign for parliamentary reform, it was intended as a warning against the implementation of abstract constitutional theories on American or French lines, which had led to civil war and revolution. Instead Bagehot showed the practical benefits of the apparently illogical mix of crown, cabinet and parliamentary authority. In 1860 he described Parliament as ‘the most efficient instrument for expressing the practical opinion of cultivated men which the world has ever seen’. This was not because MPs were intellectually gifted: they were ‘common Englishmen’. It was the process of debate between them, not their individual merits, that produced good sense. Their diversity, and the diversity of the interests they represented, ensured that Parliament would mirror the nation. The Victorian invention of the lobby correspondent, a role filled by men like William White or Henry Lucy, brought parliamentary debates alive for the newspaper reader. The correspondents usually did this by dwelling on the MPs’ individuality – their mannerisms, their dress, their hobby-horses. This humanised the institution and undermined radical stereotypes of it as a remote bastion of propertied privilege.

    The delaying, scrutinising role of Parliament has acted as protection against recklessness or utopianism in the body politic. It is a reminder that the basic aim of the representative process is the resolution of sometimes intense social tensions and clashes of opinion, so as to preserve political stability. The 19th-century boast of British political exceptionalism rested on the belief that the parliamentary system was better than any other at restraining governments, on the one hand, and utopian movements, on the other, from extreme actions that would jeopardise national order and harmony. That claim of exceptionalism may seem self-satisfied and insular now, but it rested on an assumption that social peace was hard won and that human sinfulness, as Gladstone put it, was ‘the great fact in the world’.

    Parliament’s function was not just to block rash policies; it also had a responsibility for ‘educating the nation’, in Bagehot’s phrase, persuading the people out of utopian ideas, however attractive in theory. For Bagehot, Gladstone and many others over the last two centuries, the most urgent educative task was to puncture the balloon marked ‘socialism’. Hardly less threatening was the notion that the political establishment was a cesspit of ‘Old Corruption’ – so rotten and self-serving in its greed for power and money that it must be purged. This was really an English variant on Jacobinism. A vast amount of government activity over the last two hundred years is best viewed as a slow, stealthy attempt at outsmarting these two always latent utopian cries, by shrewd adjustments to economic policy and state activity.

    Not surprisingly, many have criticised Parliament’s consistent caution and refractoriness. Complaints about MPs’ unrepresentativeness and careerism are perennial. Consequently, some of the most important moments in British political history have taken the form of successful insurrections against parliamentary sluggishness. This fact is often missed because most history teachers and students deny the literal meaning of the phrase ‘parliamentary reform’. Students are taught to see the widening of the franchise as a heroic popular struggle for democracy, but, in order to be successful, agitators needed allies within Parliament. None of the three 19th-century Reform Acts which dramatically extended the right to vote would have succeeded without a strong feeling inside the House of Commons that it was failing the country. In 1830 there was a widely held conviction that government without more popular legitimacy would lack the strength, confidence and expertise to manage a turbulent, complex and increasingly urban society. In 1865 and again in 1880 most Liberals could not tolerate the idea of governing with the parliaments they’d inherited, which under Palmerston and then Disraeli had been comatose, plutocratic and complaisant in misgovernment. In all three cases, the promoters of reform naturally hoped that a more democratic parliament would benefit their party electorally, but this was not just a cynical calculation: it depended on political leaders engaging actively with the newly represented forces.

    For all its superficial stability, modern British politics has regularly been buffeted by disillusionment which has prompted significant change. The last two hundred years have been punctuated by several dramatic ‘resets’ of the system undertaken to restore popular legitimacy. All three Reform Acts were followed by major legislative initiatives which tried to meet perceived popular demands; all produced an alarmed conservative reaction, but the overwhelming effect was to reform the party system along cleaner, more functional lines and thus to energise and validate the regime for a period. Between 1914 and 1945 there was an even more dramatic reconfiguration of the relation between state and people owing to the extension of the franchise to all men and women over 18, the growth of state activity as a result of two major wars, and the creation of a new partnership between the citizen and the state as higher taxes were levied in return for guaranteed health and welfare provision. Parliamentary government promotes stability not because it produces contentment but because it offers a way of handling discontent. And it is unworkable without party competition and self-interest; a coherent and well-functioning party system (which doesn’t always need to be reduced to two players) disciplines Parliament into effective action and represents and accommodates real social interests.

    Since 1945 the biggest question facing politicians has been how to manage a political system which can’t achieve cathartic renewal through major constitutional reform. How to minimise the growth of tension and disaffection? How to manage eruptions of utopian sentiment constructively? The doubt is whether leaders have fully understood this. Have they governed prudently? Have they realised the risks of instability? Have they worked to defuse unreasonable expectations?

    In the early postwar period the party system worked well. Labour and the Conservatives clearly represented different governing traditions as well as different socio-economic interests, and could engage in a theatre of ritual warfare. Yet both understood the limits of partisanship in policy, the need to encourage respect for institutions. Even so, after 1960 electoral support for the two main parties began to decline, a process that continued relentlessly for fifty years and was reflected in the emergence of other parties and a fall in turnout at elections. Though there were several reasons for this decline, one primary cause was the increasing gap between what politicians promised and what they delivered. As the responsibilities of the state grew, politicians claimed to exercise more control over it and were naturally criticised for its lapses. Boasts that the economy could be managed for growth became more confident in the 1960s – yet growth was disappointingly patchy. Membership of the European Economic Community was proposed as one solution, partly in order to disguise the failure to find others – but subsequently, even if ‘Europe’ assisted growth, no major politician was prepared to give it any credit. Thatcherism was an attempted reset; its effectiveness can be debated but its polarising effects are clear. To declare war on trade unions and on local government was reckless politics. So was Blair’s Iraq War.

    The decision to embark on an unnecessary war – based on a falsehood – also highlighted politicians’ increasingly cavalier use of language. Political communication was guided by advertising techniques and involved the constant repetition of tabloid-style slogans. Leaders convinced themselves that in the prosperous post-industrial West, politics could safely be reduced to the art of winning elections by targeting the swing voter’s preferences. The politician had lots to learn from marketing companies, because the voters who mattered inhabited a consumer society and so needed only to be provided with a cosmetic choice. Displaying all the insouciant condescension of a Walpolean oligarch, Peter Mandelson mused that ‘the era of pure representative democracy is coming slowly to an end.’ Each party adopted the same techniques. If they were aware that they were making the political class look alien, uncaring and fake, there was no electoral mileage in saying so. Even the expenses scandal of 2009 – a revival of the crusade against ‘Old Corruption’ – did not change this perception.

    Dissatisfaction with the two main parties also created political movements in Scotland and Northern Ireland with separate agendas. The electoral situation of the Scottish Nationalists requires them to oppose both Westminster parties; their success puts them constantly on the verge of holding the balance of power, but with little incentive to co-operate with either likely government. Polarised politics in Northern Ireland, with only one of the poles willing to sit at Westminster, created an inflammatory situation long before the emergence of the potentially devastating Brexit border issue. Either of these problems might disrupt British politics as completely as the Irish Nationalists did when they obtained the balance of power at Westminster in 1885.

    It is hardly surprising that political stability has been seriously jeopardised by the economic strains of the last decade – the global financial crisis, and the austerity, asset bubbles and generational inequality that have followed. Meanwhile terrorism and immigration flows have forced attention onto borders and questions of national security. The Brexit movement involves, among other things, a Powellite revolt against immigration, a neoliberal hostility to the big Continental state, and a kind of sub-political, traditionalist provincial patriotism. It obviously owes much to the perceived failure of politicians to address recent economic, cultural and constitutional tensions. There are sensible debates to be had about the wisdom of some EU policy aspirations and whether a continent-wide body so light on democracy is beneficial or even sustainable. But not all of these sentiments are held with equal fervour. What gives the Brexit cause its passion and staying power seems to be an animus against the remoteness, self-interestedness and unaccountability of the modern political class, and a feeling that taxpayers’ money should be spent only on causes demonstrably beneficial to national wellbeing. Brexit may eventually be found unfeasible, but it would be unwise to pretend that these underlying concerns don’t need addressing.

    There were precedents for David Cameron’s decision to go to the people in June 2016: there have been 13 referendums in various parts of the UK since 1973; the Victorian deference to a parliamentary elite has gone, and with good reason. What was indisputably poor statesmanship was the failure to consider in advance how a ‘leave’ decision could be managed politically – something that must haunt Cameron and George Osborne, for all the latter’s daily attempts in the Evening Standard to peddle the idea that this is ‘May’s Brexit crisis’. There is indeed a crisis, but it’s not unmanageable.

    At the time of writing, just after Parliament ‘took control’ and held eight indicative votes on alternative outcomes on 27 March, five things can be said. The first is that the British constitution is more robust, flexible and capable of dealing with intensely difficult issues than excited media commentators suggest. There are deeply rooted checks and balances that work against the assumption of arbitrary power by anyone, and this is understood by all the major actors. Prime ministers have to respect the norms of Parliament, however frustrating that may be when they lack a majority. There are some compensations in this: parties are less likely to split when leaders can claim that they have to respect parliamentary majorities and so don’t proceed to impose divisive choices. Taking account of party interests is a necessity, not a sin – but it does not trump other realities. It has never been likely that the government would opt for a ‘no deal’ Brexit: there is no majority for it in cabinet or Parliament; there must be a mountain of official paperwork warning of its irresponsibility; it would destroy what remains of the Conservative Party’s reputation for economic competence. As for Parliament, it was imaginative to allocate two days for some freer votes in order to find consensus in a deadlocked situation, but ‘taking back control’ on a longer term basis won’t be widely supported, not least because modern MPs don’t usually relish acting as free agents when they are dependent for reselection on party backing.

    Second, Parliament is acting in line with its constitutional duties to delay while it searches for agreement and to prevent premature and catastrophic outcomes. Siren voices in the press ridicule this and push for a quick resolution on the grounds that people are fed up. Of course many are, but there is also a lot of anger and ill-feeling about any likely Brexit outcome, and politicians need to respond to that. The process of finding consensus partly involves educating the utopians about the limitations of realistic politics. The insistent dismissal by backbenchers and Conservative constituency activists of the government’s Withdrawal Agreement as ‘Brexit in name only’ seems an instinctive, immature surrender to a conspiratorial belief in the untrustworthy nature of all politicians. It still seems probable that the likes of Steve Baker and John Redwood will vote against the agreement even if doing so destroys their cause. Perhaps they seek a satisfying martyrdom as the only pure and incorruptible Brexiteers – the Robespierre and Saint-Just of our revolution.

    Third, what the indicative votes have shown, usefully, is that there is stronger consensus than many assumed – against no deal, against revoking Article 50 (at least for the moment, while other options are considered) and against the ‘Norway’ option of remaining in the single market. This seems to suggest a relative lack of enthusiasm for maintaining free movement of people, together with a lot of support for maintaining as close and ‘frictionless’ an economic relationship with the EU as possible. In other words, for interpreting the referendum result much as the prime minister did in 2016. The question is now reduced to a comparatively narrow one: whether to try for such an outcome through the current Withdrawal Agreement or through a customs union. Either way, it’s not difficult to imagine a majority emerging for a relatively quick initial agreement with the EU, with further discussion of the future relationship later. If that doesn’t happen, we face a long delay.

    Fourth, there is still strong pressure for a confirmatory public vote, whichever option emerges. Given that the customs union option (like the Withdrawal Agreement) has disadvantages compared to remaining in the EU, and has not been subject to much discussion, it may well be that another referendum comes to be seen as the most prudent option in the end, though the opposition to another vote should not be understated (47 Labour MPs defied the whip on this vote on 27 March). Support for it in Parliament shows that many MPs no longer want to exercise the absolute sovereignty the old constitution bestowed on them and recognise the practical benefits of sharing responsibility for decisions with the people. Dominic Cummings, the Jacobin mastermind behind the Leave campaign in 2016, now claims that a second referendum would be a plebiscite on the failings of MPs and the party system, but it’s difficult to see how a question pitting the customs union against ‘Remain’ could be interpreted that way. It’s not clear either that it would bring ‘closure’.

    Fifth, we are edging closer to tackling the broader question of how we reset the party system on a new basis more relevant to the country’s obvious needs, whatever happens with Brexit. The votes against ‘no deal’ and ‘Norway’ provide more evidence that the language of free markets is unlikely to win majorities at elections any time soon. There is dwindling appetite for the utopian notion that Brexit Britain can turn itself into a European Singapore by negotiating swift free trade agreements with the rest of the world. It seems that governments looking for popular legitimacy will need to show an ability to control their borders. There is a highly plausible view that the democratic revolt of 2016 against oligarchical government should be seen as a demand for a more active and sympathetic approach to the needs of localities across the country, and for what feels like a more honest form of interaction with the public. Current parliamentary disarray should be seen not only as an indication of our predicament but as an opportunity for democratic reinvention.

    29 March

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