The People vs Westminster

Yesterday I attended Parliament.

Not to protest against Brexit, or lobby my MP (whoever it is), but to take part in an 'assessment day'. 

I have, you see, applied for a role at the Palace of Westminster as a part-time Visitor Engagement Assistant, and part of the asessment day required those of us attending (the chosen ones) to deliver a presentation.

Pleasingly we were allowed to choose virtually any topic, though with some relevance to Westminster and democracy, obviously.

I chose to put the Palace of Westminster and what it stands for 'on trial', playing both the roles of Prosecution and Defence, and I share my script with you here. Seems a shame to restrict it only to the green leather hush of Committee Room Nine.

Whether the verdict is that Westminster is outdated and needs replacing or is a shining example of contemporary democracy - well, I'll let you be the judge.

All rise...

For the prosecution:

Your Honour, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you will hear in the next few minutes about an outdated, outmoded, ancient and creaky system of democracy that is falling apart at the seams. About a system which must at all costs be replaced.

Tracing its history back over 800 or-so years, we find that Parliament’s foundations are based not on goodwill, a heartfelt need to listen to the people, or a consensus of opinion, but in fact are built on war. On aggression and defence.

When Edward I called a parliament in 1295 it was for the purpose of taking counsel from his appointed lords on how to raise more money to continue fighting the Scots and the French, not to mention suppressing insurgency across the border in Wales.

There was no healthcare, no transport subsidies, no policies reflecting social needs - nor were any of these considered important. Commoners were commoners.

And yet a parliamentary system grew up around this, but became the domain of the wealthy and privileged. Some would argue it still is. Five hundred years ago one needed to be able to demonstrate that one’s land was worth at least 40 shillings in order to have a say in governance. Until the early 20^th Century women were not even allowed to have a say at all, and even today are vastly outnumbered by men. Of the 650 parliamentary seats only around 200 are occupied by women.

For centuries the sovereign played the lead role in governance, but today Her Majesty reigns – although as my learned friend will surely tell you, does not rule over parliament – as head of State. A mere figurehead.

One need look no further than the Westminster cloakrooms for evidence of how antiquated this building and all within it have become. There you will find ribbons from which Members may hang their swords (if they could sneak them through security). And in the House itself, two red lines divide the government from the Opposition; lines which it is said are measured by the length of two swords, to keep our governors from drawing and using their weapons.

Heavens, just outside the chamber there is a snuff box from which Members may ‘take a hit’, since smoking is no longer permitted. And if that’s not antiquated enough, there are only 427 seats available for a total of 650 Members of Parliament, so in order to secure a seat on those busiest of days members must fill out a 'prayer card', and be in attendance for prayers before any debating begins.

My time is limited, so it is with regret that I cannot inform you fully of the rodent problem, the crumbling gothic structure in which we stand and the enormous cost of its refurbishment. But as an analogy the Palace of Westminster is perfect: like the system it houses, it is slowly but surely falling apart. 

This isn’t Westminster. This is Wasteminster.

For the Defence:

I thank my learned friend for his observations, which, as you will see do not stand up to scrutiny, and which conveniently yet erroneously paint a picture of a deteriorating democracy.

Your Honour, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, let us not be fooled into thinking that a building, even one as magnificent as this, can represent the full power, or the full significance of the Westminster System of democracy. It is not the bricks and mortar that hold our society together; it is the decisions, the debates and ultimately the laws that are passed within the building that save us from the descent into anarchy and chaos.

As you’ve heard, Edward I realised he needed to gain popularity with the commoners if he was to impose taxes for raising funds for the defence of the realm. But in doing so, what eventuated was the chance for the people’s voice to be heard by authority.

The common people had grievances, over land, boundaries, the expectations demanded of them, and for the first time the monarch had to listen to them. For the first time those that ruled had to embrace the concept of quid pro quo: I want  something from you, I need to give something to you. We have never looked back.

Yes it was kings who ruled and reigned for many years, but from Edward’s time on the

Making their voices heard

concept of a Commons survived and grew. Not always perfectly, not always equally, but eventually the 40-shillings rule was dropped, and having a say, making your voice heard, became the right of commoners. 

So community representation goes back hundreds of years, with knights taking county and borough grievances to the king. Later  this developed into a more formalised system of representation when voting was introduced, and thanks to the voices and sacrifices of the suffragettes, women too were able to vote. It is a testament to democracy that their voices were allowed to be heard, and were listened to.

It is true also that her Majesty reigns over but does not rule parliament. And yet each week she meets privately with the prime minister to discuss affairs of state, to take the pulse of the nation, and – who knows – maybe to advise and counsel the head of government with wisdom and insight. She has  after all outlasted twelve prime ministers to date, and maybe even thirteen by the end of the year.

('Objection! Your Honour, pure conjecture!' 'Overruled. Please continue...')

Thank you m'lud. Oh yes we have ribbons for hanging swords, lines on the carpet to keep our members from tearing each other’s throats out, and snuff for the taking. These are quaint, old-fashioned, and yet such things are a magnet for tourists. It is just these quirks and conventions that our American cousins, our European cousins, and in fact those from all over the world find fascinating and absorbing. In this age of Instagram, Parliament has never been so visible, so desirable. 

This Palace has endured many hardships. At least twice it has caught fire. It survived a terrorist plot involving gunpowder - though it could be thanks to its damp crumbling cellars that the explosives might never have gone off – and during the Second World War the Luftwaffe bombed it. It is still here. It endures. And more importantly what it represents endures: freedom. That includes for example  the freedom of the press to question every aspect of parliament without fear, without threat of incarceration, or worse. 

You are here today safe and sound because of Westminster. Not the building itself, but what it represents: around 800 years of democracy. Eight hundred years of caring for the commoners, for caring for the United Kingdom’s place in the world. Eight hundred years of progress, and a system that has been adopted around the world in one form or another.

Ladies and gentlemen, I put it to you that you came here today thanks to laws governing transport, health and safety, equality, and above all laws that entitle each and every one of you to have a say in the running of this country. Laws that were drawn up, debated, and agreed here in this building.

This is not Wasteminster, this is Bestminster.

 

Gunpowder, No Reason, and Rot

Last evening London was rocked by explosions near Parliament, and although no suspects were arrested we know who was responsible: the city's mayor Sadiq Khan. Oh, and some guy called Fawkes.

Guy Fawkes - a non-event

It was (as you guessed) the occasion of the Mayor's firework display on the River Thames, and Liz and I had front-row seats on a boat mid-stream. Well, when I say seats what I mean is we were standing in the bows of one of the many Thames tourist boats, jostling shoulders with dozens of others as we watched the display light up the sky just beyond Waterloo Bridge.

Earlier, before the pyrotechnics, the boat had cruised upstream past Westminster and the Houses of Parliament, about which our lovable Cockney skipper shared a few interesting tidbits. Blimey, the stories that came out of his north and south, you wouldn't Adam and Eve it. 

But no mention of Guy Fawkes or the plot to destroy Parliament, which I guess isn't necessary now anyway since it's falling down on its own without any gunpowder or treason (just rot) and costing a few billion in restoration and conservation that we can ill afford since we have an NHS that's also crumbling and needs rescuing. (Enough rant; get on with it - Ed.)

The Thames was hugely busy on this particular evening, with large tourist boats, super-fast RIBs, the usual floating obstacles like rusty barges and anchored hulks, and even a flotilla of hardy kayakers battling the chop. Our plate of kipper (that's Cockney rhyming slang I just invented to reference the captain) had his hands full a) not hitting any other boats and b) maintaining our position midstream in the fast and choppy murky waters. He did well, and the life rafts and buoyancy aids remained unused. When you think about it, sending up a distress flare in the middle of a fireworks display would likely have been useless anyway.

The fireworks started, and - thank you Mr Khan - it was a cracking good show; taxpayers' money literally going up in smoke. But it was also the first fireworks event I've experienced in the proper context. I mean, the primary reason we have fireworks in November is to 'celebrate' the failed attempt at blowing up Parliament in 1605, and here we were, within a banger's throw of Westminster watching a commemorative display of controlled and colourful explosions. 

But it's a wibbly-wobbly upside down concept when you think about it - a massive display of potassium nitrate, sulphur, carbon and a few other chemicals - all designed to bang and swoosh and cackle and light up the sky in acknowledgement of an event that didn't happen. 

What are we missing here? There must be plenty of other things in history that failed or never eventuated as planned - why don't we celebrate them as well? The flying saucer crash at Roswell in 1947 for example; why not a day to celebrate this unsuccessful attempt by aliens to invade Earth? We should, every year in the first week of July, be lighting little burners under saucer-shaped paper balloons and sending them skyward into the night.

Canute Day - worth celebrating

And, a thousand years ago, King Canute allegedly sat on his throne and waited as the tide slowly came in and lapped around his ankles and calves, proving to his sycophantic courtiers that in fact he didn't have any divine powers and couldn't stop the water coming up the beach. Surely each year we should all go down to the seaside with our chairs and plonk them along the tideline, celebrating Canute's failure as we are slowly but inexorably - yet delightedly - soaked.

If someone had the time and inclination to do the research, we could probably be celebrating things that didn't happen virtually every day of the year.

It's a shame really that the fireworks barge wasn't moored directly alongside the Houses of Parliament, since that's where all the fuss was 412 years ago, but then it doesn't bear thinking about if it suffered a catastrophic malfunction and blew up.

Then again, that might have solved a whole lot of problems in one glorious spectacular go, and given us something to really celebrate. Remember, remember the 11th November...