Mandate
I’ve grown weary of being insulted by members of different societal class who believe they can do and say whatever they like without consequence. While there are some good, honest, hard-working members of this class striving to do the right thing, many seem to be little more than self-serving scroungers attempting to get away with doing as little as possible at the taxpayer’s expense, simultaneously complaining about being denigrated by and showing no respect for everybody else.
Wait, you think…? No, don’t be daft.
No, I’m talking about politicians. Not all of them—there are some exceptions, but they seem to few and far between.
Right now we have a government consisting of a political party for whom the majority of the active electorate didn’t vote, in coalition with another party—who have been mostly invisible of late (probably wise, given how embarrassing the actions of their coalition partner have been to their policies)—which won the fewest votes of the three major parties. In opposition, a weak and largely discredited party who are gaining in the opinion polls largely by virtue of being the opposition.
Of course, we’re a nation who likes to kid ourselves. We show great pride in our freedoms and liberties, yet collectively look the other way when they’re hacked apart. Comparisons with other nations are hyperbolic, you see: it’s okay when we do it, because we don’t have crazed morons in charge.
There was a call a few weeks ago for Britain to have a motto. I can’t help but think that were we to gain one, it would be celebrating the fact that Jeremy Bentham was British.
Perhaps it’s true that we don’t have crazed morons in charge, but I’m only barely convinced that those we do have in charge have a mandate to govern, either. You wouldn’t know it to listen to them, mind—it’s an impressive display of chutzpah when the Prime Minister (or the Home Secretary, or the Health Minister, or… whomever) stands up and lectures us on what’s wrong with modern society.
We like to believe, as a nation, that we’re a pinnacle of democracy; that we have one of the finest systems of government in the world, one that others should aspire to.
Well, that’s tosh.
Despite being reminded at every election that we’re voting for a representative and not a party, the party lines (or in the case of Liberal Democrats, the Conservatives’ party lines) remain a force to be reckoned with. Your Member of Parliament may represent you, but for the most part only where it doesn’t actually matter to the party agenda.
The Internet and digital television have provided us with hitherto unheard-of levels of scrutiny over parliamentarians. In days gone by, we could just about accept being scolded by members of the Prime Minister’s Cabinet because there was a persistent illusion that perhaps they really did know what they were talking about, and really were in a position to moralise about our behaviour.
That illusion has been thoroughly shattered.
You can’t watch MPs at work in the Commons and still maintain the view that they probably do know what’s best for us and are being—for the most part—legitimately authoritative. I don’t know whether the party elites have considered that perhaps the reason why the electorate has become progressively more disenfranchised with politicians is because we can see what you’re like. Not wild speculation, but clear and direct observation.
If you’ve never watched a major debate in the Commons, I’d urge you to. Once you get past the jeering and grumbling of the assembled members, the nuances of parliamentary protocol, and the repeated sound of the Speaker of the House desperately pleading with MPs to behave with some degree of decorum, you get to the meat of the debate: a PR exercise pitting Government policy against the past actions of the opposition and vice versa.
Oh, sure, sometimes MPs will make some salient points in the interests of the nation or their constituents, but the bulk of it boils down one minister making a finely-tuned speech about how some initiative or other is a great leap forward, the opposition shadow counterpart waffling about how it’s either (a) stupid, or (b) not as good as the policy they proposed, followed by the minister throwing in some jibe about how when the the opposition party was in power, they really screwed this whole thing up, so aren’t they a fine one to talk?
Stop it.
It’s insulting. The whole setup demonstrates a staggering lack of respect for the electorate—indeed, tradition is afforded a great deal more respect than the man on the Clapham omnibus: for all the bluster from various MPs around early November about poppies and remembrance, I’m not at all sure that this was the kind of democratic process that those who went to war believed they were fighting to preserve (and don’t forget that in the case of the World Wars, conscription had a significant part to play in that “who”); for the high-horse ranting about a feral underclass, MPs behave in the Commons like a rowdy drink-fuelled mob (and let’s not get started on the Bullingdon Club, shall we?); the assertions-spoken-as-fact, half-truths, misdirection and purposeful oversimplifications which repeatedly go unchallenged are an insult to those of us who do research things for ourselves (Contempt of Parliament, wherefore art thou?); the strong influence of lobbyists and party whips over MP’s votes is a bitten thumb to those of us who have taken the time and trouble to put forth clear arguments to our MPs, often to receive little more than an acknowledgement of receipt after the debate has already happened, or a stock letter of rebuttal from the minister responsible for the policy area; and I’m completely confident that those whose lives are turned upside-down by damaging policies will feel better when they know that the MPs debating the issue took the time to jibe and jeer at one another throughout.
I’m sick of being insulted.
At the very least, we deserve to know this from Parliamentarians: how can you possibly justify it?
For those of you in Government, what the hell makes you think you have a mandate to do what you’re doing? You govern by consent, and from where I’m sat you’ve been given an inch and taken a mile.
