One year on from one thing, sixteen months on from another thing…

8th September 2023

On this anniversary of Elizabeth II’s death, we are still in the legislative session commenced with the Queen’s Speech of May 2022 – one monarch and two prime ministers (and several cabinet ministers) ago.

This, by itself, illustrates the drift of the current government. Neither Truss nor Sunak when they commenced their premierships signalled a new legislative programme. Instead they carried on with what was, in any case, primarily a gimmicky pick-and-mix miscellany of poorly conceived legislative proposals.

And so we are are still, in one sense, in the age of Johnson. And he is now not even in parliament, let alone the head of a government pushing through his last legislative package.

The knock-on effect of this is, as my Substack has previously averred, that the government is running out of time before the next election to pass legislation – especially anything fundamental or controversial. Many will think this a good thing, but it is not the sign of a government with direction or drive.

We are one year on from one thing, sixteen months on from another thing, and still perhaps a year away from that one thing, a general election, that can bring about any meaningful change.

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Ecce Homo, Ecce Rex

12th May 2023

There was one part of the coronation ceremony last week – other than the poor minister carrying that sword for such a long time – which I found striking.

It was when, as part of the religious element of the the service, the king was stripped to his shirt.

And the reason this struck me was not its religious significance, but because it reminded me of a nineteenth century sketch that this blog has featured before.

This engraving by William Makepeace Thackeray:

The point of the caricature, of course, is that there is a distinction with any ruler between the natural person and their paraphernalia of office.

The comic series Sandman also deals with this point, where the entity Dream realises that he has wrongly infused (or perhaps confused) his three symbols of power (helm, powder, ruby) with own immense power.

This is not a new thought: as long as we have, as a species, have had notions of (what we would now call) lordship (rather than face-to-face dominance) then there has been the issue of the extent to which artefacts confer power – or whether the artefacts instead recognise and convey power.

Of course, the more confident the ruler, the less they need to resort to any visual rhetoric and symbolism.

Genuinely powerful rulers need few props, for they have power instead.

And a confident ruler in a culture where there are props of office will be unafraid to not be seen with those props.

The paraphernalia is an extra, not the essence.

And this is true whether the garb is a crown, or a judge’s wig and gown, or a police officer’s helmet and warrant card.

This is why this step of the coronation was so interesting (and it is, it seems, an ancient component of the service and not some novelty).

Not only did we see a king with his crown and his orb and his sceptre: we got to see him before he put any of them on.

We got to behold the man, before we got to behold the king.

And the point that Thackeray was slyly making with his cartoon is that some with power would very much not want you to behold any such thing.

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Note: the title may be better as Ecce Homo, Ecce Regum – and so I apologise for my prioritisation here of style over substance:

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Coronation notes from a non-militant republican

7th May 2023

We will start with a very British thing, a red post box.

This is is one of about 171 post boxes which, if you look carefully, have the insignia and cipher of Edward VIII.

The point, of course, is that there was never a coronation for Edward VIII.

But this fact did not stop him being king – or from exercising any of his prerogative or other powers, including signing his own instrument of abdication and giving royal assent to the Act to which the instrument was scheduled:

He was R.I. (king and emperor) all the same.

This reminds us that, from one perspective, a coronation has almost no legal or even constitutional significance.

The monarch rules from the moment the last monarch dies.

There is no need for a coronation for a monarch to rule.

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But.

From other perspectives, a coronation has immense constitutional significance – even if it makes little legal(istic) difference.

For a coronation provides the point where a new monarch enters into a number of oaths, covenants, promises, undertakings, contracts, and so on, that exist to remind the new monarch and everyone else of – in effect – the transactional and consensual nature of modern kingship.

And, in a far less secular way, a coronation reminds us of the supposed relationship between the new monarch and the Christian god and the established church in England – for this is also a basis of modern kingship.

Indeed, without an understanding of the relationship of the monarch with the established Church of England one would not grasp how kingship, and thereby the constitution, developed after the Reformation.

No Church of England, no political crisis of 1688-89 and no Hanoverian succession in 1714; and with no political crisis of 1688-89 and no Hanoverian succession in 1714, our political development would probably have been very different.

So a coronation has immense significance – in that it signifies various things about our constitutional arrangements, even if new letter boxes would get the new royal signage anyway.

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A coronation is also a reminder of who does not have ultimate political power.

There is an old line – an untrue and grossly unfair line – about Ringo Star not even being the greatest drummer in the Beatles.

(In fact, he was and is a great drummer.)

Yet it was a line that came to mind during the ceremony yesterday.

The prime minister was not even the most prominent member of his own cabinet.

Indeed, during his reading he seemed like as much an onlooker as the rest of us.

His more junior cabinet colleague – who happened to be the Lord President of the (Privy) Council – had a far more conspicuous role.

(And we are perhaps fortunate that it was Mordaunt in place and not other recent Lords President of the Council.)

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One way of thinking critically about constitutional matters is to not focus on who has what power, but on what powers various actors do not have.

And, as this blog has averred many times, the one key feature about the crown in our constitutional arrangements is not so much about the power it has, but about the power it deprives others from having.

So, in contrast with say the inauguration of a president in a republic, our head of government is a but a bit-player at the coronation of the new head of state.

Yes, this is largely symbolism – but it also put the democratic (and demagogic) element of our polity in its place.

Some may say this is a good thing, some may say it a bad thing: but yesterday the head of government was just another commoner, albeit one with a brief speaking part.

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Of course, as this blog contended a couple of days ago, a confident monarchy should be unafraid of challenges, even on coronation day.

As such the reported heavy-handed police treatment of some protesters was wrong and inappropriate.

Yet, even if the protesters had been left free, they would never have had any effect.

For this country is not going to be a republic.

Never.

So those of us who are not monarchists have got to accept this, and work with the constitutional arrangements we have to make those constitutional arrangements better than they are.

That perhaps is the greatest constitutional significance of the coronation: we are still a monarchy, and that ain’t ever going to change.

And the monarchy will still be there, when even red post boxes will be gone and forgotten.

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“The King’s Champion” – why a confident monarchy should welcome challenges on coronation day

5th May 2023

Here is a remarkable, and as this post will contend misconceived and historically illiterate, take on the coronation:

And here is a similarly misconceived message:

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Let this blog introduce you to the King’s (or Queen’s Champion).

According to that history website:

“Originally it was the champion’s duty to ride, on a white charger, fully clad in armour, into Westminster Hall during the coronation banquet.

“There he threw down his gauntlet and challenged any person who dared to deny the sovereign’s right to the throne. The king himself of course, could not fight in single combat against anyone except an equal.

“It was only at the Coronation of Queen Victoria in 1838 that the traditional ride and challenge was left out of the ceremony. Henry Dymoke – Queen’s Champion at the time – was created a baronet by way of compensation.”

And here at Wikipedia is more information – and a splendid pic:*

And akin to the familiar challenge in a wedding ceremony, the challenge was expressly made:

“If any person, of whatever degree soever, high or low, shall deny or gainsay our Sovereign Lord [     ], King of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, Defender of the Faith, son and next heir unto our Sovereign Lord the last King deceased, to be the right heir to the imperial Crown of this realm of Great Britain and Ireland, or that he ought not to enjoy the same; here is his Champion, who saith that he lieth, and is a false traitor, being ready in person to combat with him, and in this quarrel will adventure his life against him on what day soever he shall be appointed.”

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Times change, and the nature of challenges change, but the essence is just the same.

A confident monarchy should welcome challenges on coronation day.

Offering this challenge was part of the reason there were coronations.

From a constitutional and legal perspective, a coronation has little significance: the new monarch rules and can exercise powers on the death of the last monarch.

The function of the coronation is therefore largely symbolic: and part of the symbolism was to show off the confidence of the new monarch by offering a challenge to, well, challengers.

Bearing this in mind, let us go back to the take quoted above.

“The Coronation is not the moment to start an argument about the future of the monarchy” – yet hundreds of years of the king’s champion says otherwise.

“Our tolerance for any disruption…” – imagine the, ahem, disruption of a knight arriving to challenge the coronation.

Perhaps it is understandable though that some pundits and the police don’t realise that coronations were once about challenges as well as about validations.

After all, it would take a sense of history.

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How Prince Harry’s legal case shows how the phone hacking story has returned to the start of a circle

26th April 2023

The news about the royals and hacking, well summarised and analysed by Joshua Rozenberg at his Substack, brings us back to the start of a circle.

For the phone hacking story only came about because of the royals.

The story came about because the Fleet Street press of the time – with their well-connected links with the Metropolitan police and the private investigation mini-industry, and unchecked by fearful politicians – sought access to information from the voicemails of the royal household.

Because the royal household became involved, the matter was passed to different police officers at the Metropolitan Police, who then raided and took compelling evidence from private investigators.

And in Scotland Yard that evidence was stored, and it became relevant to civil claims some years later, and then suddenly the scope and extent of tabloid phone hacking became apparent.

But without the royal household connection, the crucial evidence would not ever have been seized and stored, and without that evidence being available for later litigation, the hacking story may never have emerged.

What happened shows the practical importance of the monarchy to our politics, regardless of constitutional theory and conventional wisdom.

It seems only the monarchy has any autonomous power when the police and the media and the politicians collude.

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Such crude phone hacking now seems from another age – technologically, culturally, politically, legally.

After the current crop of cases it may well be that the phone hacking litigation comes to an end.

Prince Harry’s various cases will then perhaps be the other bookend to that provided by the original hacking of the royal household telephones.

But as the parties attend hearings at the Royal Courts of Justice in the Strand, the sophisticated surveillance and data retention by the state and technology companies continues at an unimaginable scale, again unchecked by either politicians or the media.

The phone hacking of a media generation ago seems like a garden shed affair compared with a huge urban conurbation of the exercise of “investigatory powers”.

Any abuses and misuses (or even uses) of the current technology will, in turn, probably never come to light so as to horrify.

Unless, of course, the abuses and misuses (and uses) affect the royal household.

And only then, maybe, will we ever get to hear about it.

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Is it, at last, time to say “good bye” to Thoburn and the idea of “constitutional statutes”?

 9th February 2023

Oh dear old Thoburn, what shall be done with you?

Thoburn, the mainstay of thousands of constitutional law essays and hundreds of learned articles, does yesterday’s Supreme Court decision mean you are now no more?

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Thoburn is the 2002 “metric martyrs” case which introduced into the then quiet, sedate world of constitutional law the exciting concept of “constitutional statutes”.

Until then all Acts of Parliament were regarded as being equal, none of them any more entrenched – enshrined – than any other.

But in Thoburn the judge said, in effect, that there was a class of super-duper statutes known as “constitutional statutes” and these statutes had super-duper qualities not available to more mundane everyday statutes.

Incredible, if true.

And so Thoburn became the recent constitutional law case any student or informed pundit had to have an opinion about.

But yesterday’s Supreme Court decision on the Northern Irish Protocol may mean the dictum in Thoburn are no longer to be taken seriously.

What will law students and pundits do?

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To understand what happened with the Thoburn case we have to go back to the Victorian doctrine of the supremacy of parliament.

This doctrine holds that no statute passed by the Crown-in-Parliament can be gainsaid by any court.

But in two case in the early 1930s about the Acquisition of Land (Assessment of Compensation) Act 1919 and the Housing Act 1925, the courts were presented with a situation where two statutes contradicted each other.

How should the courts deal with this situation?

The clever idea the courts came up with was “implied repeal” – and so the fiction adopted was that parliament in passing the later legislation knew about the earlier legislation, and so the (presumed) intent of parliament was to repeal the earlier legislation.

But as this repeal was not explicit in the later legislation, it would have to be an implicit repeal.

And this is how the interwar courts managed to disapply a piece of primary legislation, notwithstanding the heady doctrine of the supremacy of parliament.

(Of course, if no Act of parliament can actually be gainsaid by a court, then the courts should have just refused to choose between the two contradictory statutes and return the matter to Parliament to sort out – but the fig-leaf of the “intent” of parliament meant the courts could sort out the legislative mess parliament had created.)

And the legal rule from these case was that the later statute trumps – that is, implicitly repeals – the earlier statute when the two contradict.

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But in 2002 the court was faced with another seemingly awkward situation.

It was submitted in that case that the Weights and Measures Act 1985 somehow implicitly repealed the earlier European Communities Act 1973.

On the merits of the case, the court found that this was not the position.

But in a dictum – which was not about the point on which the case turned – Lord Justice Laws (and please none of the usual jokes about nominative determinism) went on a judicial frolic and speculated about implied repeal.

Could a later Act of Parliament really implicitly repeal the European Communities Act 1973, which – in turn – was the (then) basis for the laws of the European Union having effect in the United Kingdom?

On the basis of the 1930s cases then this would have to be the position, as the later statute trumps the earlier statute.

But.

As we now know, repeal of the European Communities Act 1973 would be a very complicated and far-reaching thing.

And so Lord Justice Laws posited a new category of statutes which would be immune from any implied repeal.

If there were any contradictions with an earlier “constitutional statute” then it would be the later statute that would be repealed, not the earlier one.

His dictum was as follows (which I have broke out into one-sentence paragraphs):

We should recognise a hierarchy of Acts of Parliament: as it were “ordinary” statutes and “constitutional” statutes.

The two categories must be distinguished on a principled basis. In my opinion a constitutional statute is one which (a) conditions the legal relationship between citizen and State in some general, overarching manner, or (b) enlarges or diminishes the scope of what we would now regard as fundamental constitutional rights.

(a) and (b) are of necessity closely related: it is difficult to think of an instance of (a) that is not also an instance of (b).

The special status of constitutional statutes follows the special status of constitutional rights.

Examples are the [sic] Magna Carta, the Bill of Rights 1689, the Act of Union, the Reform Acts which distributed and enlarged the franchise, the HRA, the Scotland Act 1998 and the Government of Wales Act 1998.

The ECA clearly belongs in this family. It incorporated the whole corpus of substantive Community rights and obligations, and gave overriding domestic effect to the judicial and administrative machinery of Community law.

It may be there has never been a statute having such profound effects on so many dimensions of our daily lives.

The ECA is, by force of the common law, a constitutional statute.

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This was exhilarating, provocative stuff.

And it was utter flapdoodle.

There was no basis for positing such “constitutional statutes” – either then or now.

They were invented just to get the courts out of the potentially tricky situation which the judges’ contrived solution to the problems in the 1930s had got themselves into.

The notion of “implied repeal” was now a reversible switch – and it was to be the judges who decided (and not parliament) whether it would be the earlier or the later legislation that would be “implicitly repealed” by the simple expedient of the judge perhaps dubbing one or the other of the Acts of Parliament a “constitutional statute”.

It was all rather daft, but you will see why it was like catnip to those with an interest in constitutional law.

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Anyway, the Laws dictum was relied on by the applicants in the recent Allister litigation on the legality of the Northern Irish Protocol, which eventually reached the Supreme Court.

The Supreme Court decision in that case is fascinating and it warrants a post by itself, especially on respect of the developing jurisprudence of the court on devolution.

But the Supreme Court was unimpressed by the Thoburn point.

The court described the submission (again broken up into one-sentence paragraphs):

On the hearing of this appeal, the appellants submitted that the Acts of Union were constitutional statutes so that the rights in the trade limb of article VI of His Majesty’s subjects of Northern Ireland being on the same footing in respect of trade as His Majesty’s subjects of Great Britain, could not be subject to repeal or to subjugation, modification, or suspension absent express or specific words in a later statute.

In support of that submission, the appellants relied on a line of authorities starting with Thoburn v Sunderland City Council [2002] EWHC 195 (Admin)[2003] QB 151 for the proposition that whilst ordinary statutes may be impliedly repealed constitutional statutes may not.

At para 63 of Thoburn, Laws LJ suggested that the repeal of a constitutional statute or the abrogation of a fundamental right could only be effected by a later statute by:

“express words in the later statute, or by words so specific that the inference of an actual determination to effect the result contended for was irresistible.”

The appellants submitted that the Acts of Union are constitutional Acts and that the rights to equal footing as to trade were fundamental rights so that there was no scope for implied repeal and by analogy there was no scope for implied subjugation, modification, or suspension.

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You will see that the Thoburn point has now been expanded beyond implied repeal and that “constitutional statutes” have various other super-duper legal protections.

The court held (again broken up into one-sentence paragraphs, and with my two comments interposed):

The debate as to whether article VI created fundamental rights in relation to trade, whether the Acts of Union are statutes of a constitutional character, whether the 2018 and 2020 Acts are also statutes of a constitutional character, and as to the correct interpretative approach when considering such statutes or any fundamental rights, is academic.

“Academic.”

Even if it is engaged in this case, the interpretative presumption that Parliament does not intend to violate fundamental rights cannot override the clearly expressed will of Parliament.

“Even if”

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Allister is not about implied repeal, so strictly speaking the Laws dictum in Thoburn may be said to not be applicable.

But the notion of “constitutional statutes” is plainly not taken seriously by this unanimous Supreme Court in an important devolution case engaging what Laws would have called many “constitutional statutes” , with a panel consisting of justices from Northern Ireland, Scotland, and Wales, as well as the court’s leading public law justice, Lord Sales.

For the Supreme Court, the content of the Acts of Union have no special entrenched legal status, and they can be amended, and so on, just as any other Act of Parliament.

The question of what would happen with a direct contradiction, as in the early 1930s has been sidestepped.

But the expedient of “constitutional statutes” as suggested by Laws in Thoburn seems to have been put back in its judicial box.

Or has it?

No doubt there will now be thousands more constitutional law essays, and hundreds more learned articles, to tell us whether the dictum in Thoburn is no more.

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Spare time for the monarchy

9th January 2022

You do not need to read the (as yet) unpublished book Spare, or even watch the interviews with Prince Harry, the duke of Sussex, to know there is something significant happening with the British monarchy.

But whatever the content of the book, and whatever is said (and not said) by and against the author, it will be important not see this just as an exercise in immediate cause-and-effect.

There has been a problem for sometime with how the monarchy and its circle – which we can dub for convenience “the Palace” – has conducted itself in terms of politics and media.

The “never explain, never complain” mantra, combined with the use of quiet and soft media-political influence, and the use of the extended family in public roles as “the firm”, was born out of the post-war predicament of the monarchy.

Looking back it may seem obvious that, of course, the British monarchy was going to survive and indeed thrive after the second world war.

But.

For Elizabeth II, whose uncle had had his throne taken from him by politicians and whose father had his empire turned into a commonwealth, it may not have looked so certain.

Indeed, the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, over which her grandfather had reigned, had been radically configured in her father’s lifetime.

And her husband and many others close to her knew directly how other countries had ended their monarchies.

The crown, as Elizabeth came to the throne, was precarious.

This sense of precariousness is the one thing which the Netflix series The Crown gets right, even if it gets many historical facts wrong.

As such, the “never explain, never complain” mantra, combined with the use of quiet and soft media-political influence, and the use of the extended family in public roles as “the firm”, was a holding operation.

And it worked.

But it was unusual – other monarchies, sometimes derided as “cycling monarchies” – show other European models of monarchy can survive.

And even if it worked, it does not mean that “the firm” model was permanent.

Other problems in the wider royal family and the Palace organisation also show that the model may be imploding.

The publication of Spare may be a cause of certain events, but it may also be the accelerator of certain trends, and the effect of others.

And what worked for the monarchy in the decades after 1945 may not be what will work in the decades after 2022-23.

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In the comments below, comments with particular allegations against anybody are unlikely to be published: this is a post about constitutional issues.

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The one big problem with House of Lords reform

22nd November 2022

As today is a palindrome day – 22/11/22 – here is another palindrome: 111.

One hundred and eleven.

That is, the number of years since this statute was passed:

And if you read the preamble above, you will see that Act was only intended to be temporary, until there was a second chamber constituted on a “popular” basis.

But one hundred and eleven years later, the House of Lords is still there.

For reform is easy to announce, but hard to accomplish.

And in the House of Lords there are still ninety-one hereditary peers – and even twenty-six bishops from the Church of England (which, remember, is the established church in only one of the four constituent nations of the United Kingdom).

There are also several hundred life peers, each of whom is the beneficiary of some sort of patronage, or closed selection process, and none of whom are elected or in any meaningful way politically accountable.

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Of course, the House of Lords should be reformed or replaced.

Of course.

But how?

And here is a big problem about the House of Lords in our constitutional arrangements.

We need to first understand what a second chamber is for.

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Any reform of, or replacement for, the House of Lords has to be carried by the government of the day with the support of the House of Commons.

And neither the government of the day nor the House of Commons will usually want to strengthen the power of a second chamber.

This means that any reform or replacement is likely to strengthen both the government or the House of Commons, or both.

You may be think that would be a good thing, and perhaps it is, but as it stands the House of Lords provides a check and and a balance to any government that commands the House of Commons.

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The House of Lords cannot veto any legislation.

And the House of Lords will not (by convention) delay any legislation for which there is a mandate at a general election.

But for legislation which has been forced through the House of Commons with little or no scrutiny, the House of Lords currently provides an essential function, despite its lack of democratic legitimacy.

How can this function be maintained – even enhanced – with reform or replacement?

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This problem is why any fundamental reform of, or replacement for, the House of Lords really needs to be complemented by fundamental reform of the House of Commons.

For, as it stands, the House of Lords currently saves the House of Commons – and government ministers – from themselves.

Repeatedly, routinely, almost daily.

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Replacing life peers with elected politicians seeking re-election will removed the independence and expertise that provides the merit of the House of Lords.

Using some other basis of election – by regions or otherwise – may create a chamber with an equal claim to democratic legitimacy, thereby creating logjams, rather than revision.

As with the Crown, one useful feature of the House of Lords is not so much the power it has, but the power it prevents others in the polity from having.

So any serious discussion about reform or replacement should be preceded by anxious consideration of function and purpose: what is the House of Lords or new other chamber to do?

What is it actually for?

And then we should work backwards from that so as to see how it should be comprised.

By putting the question of composition before the question of function and purpose, one is perhaps putting the state coach before the horses.

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It is to be welcomed that the Leader of the Opposition, who has a real chance of being Prime Minister after the next general election, is openly discussing doing something with the House of Lords.

The first term of a left-of-centre government is usually the only time we will ever get a programme of constitutional reform – for example in 1945-50 or 1997-2001.

There are certainly a number of smaller reforms which could be made, including excluding the bishops and remaining hereditary peers, and reducing the scope of patronage by existing and exiting prime ministers.

All easy, quick wins.

But anything more significant requires there to be a balancing exercise, between the new chamber and the House of Commons and the executive.

And that balancing exercise should not be rushed.

Though, of course, we should not have to wait another one hundred and eleven years.

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Law and policy on a day of political chaos

14th October 2022

Well.

The word “chaos” – like “crisis” – can be overused in politics.

But on some days the word is apt.

A Chancellor of the Exchequer flew back after cutting short his meetings with the IMF in Washington only to be summarily sacked, and the government performed yet another U-turn on its “growth” mini-budget with what was a mini-press conference.

So much for policy instability – but it is the politics that has gone beyond mere instability into chaos.

The authority of the current Prime Minister within the governing party has simply collapsed.

They are simply not turning up any more:

The lack of authority is related to humiliation in the markets:

Perhaps this is the reason “Brexit” was named after “Grexit”.

These are not normal times, of course, but it is hard to see how the current Prime Minister can survive much longer in office – and even if she does, her authority is extinguished.

And when the Prime Minister’s power is low – let alone non-existent – then intense political instability will result until and unless another Prime Minister with authority can be put in place.

The centre cannot hold.

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Stepping back, we must remember that the office of Prime Minister has little formal power.

The name of the office barely features in the statute book – and for a good part of its history, the office had no statutory recognition at all.

The power of the office rests on two bases.

The first is the power that derives from the Royal Prerogative and other means of non-legislative power.

The Prime Minister can, in practice, hire and fire ministers, (again) call general elections, confer honours, set the policy agenda and chair the cabinet and cabinet committees.

But this executive power rests on the confidence of the Prime Minister’s politcal allies.

And once that respect is gone, it is gone.

The second power is that which comes from effective control of the legislature, especially in respect of matters on which there is a general election mandate.

Command of the House of Commons means control of the Finance Bills, and thereby mastery of revenue and taxation; and a general election mandate for a policy means that the House of Lords cannot needlessly delay or block the relevant legislation.

A Prime Minister with a substantial majority won at a general election has the greatest prize that the constitution of the United Kingdom can bestow.

And on paper, the current prime Minister has a parliamentary majority of about seventy.

But, as this blog recently averred, we now have, in political reality, a hung parliament.

The Prime Minister cannot even be confident that she could get a Finance Bill through the House of Commons unscathed, let alone any other contentious legislation.

And so, this Prime Minister has no authority in government and no control of Parliament.

It is only because the last few years have seen many other politically odd things that one can think that the current Prime Minister can survive another week.

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The striking thing about this political predicament is that it is entirely self-inflicted.

There was no objective reason – no requirement – for that mini-budget before the conference season.

And there was no good reason for the government to “press on” when it became obvious it had lost the confidence of the markets.

The reason they did so is not ideology – for as this blog contended not long ago, many successful politicians have been guided by ideology.

The problem with current Prime Minister is not that she has an ideology but that she seems to have nothing else.

One suspects that even now she has no sense of what actually she has got wrong: about why reality is not according to her political vision.

And so we have politicians who idolise “free markets” being destroyed one-by-one by the market.

It is quite a spectacle.

*

We now get to see how our constitutional arrangements deal with yet another Prime Minister being forced from office between general elections.

It is not, of course, unusual for a Prime Minister to either take office or leave office between general elections.

As this blog has said many times, every Prime Minister since 1974 has either taken office or left office between general elections.

The unusual thing is now it is happening frequently, and we are now on our fourth Prime Minister since 2016.

The cause of this political instability is not that the governing party cannot obtain a majority – it has had a working majority between 2015-2017 and from 2019 onwards.

There is a deeper problem in the politics of the United Kingdom which means that even a governing party with nominal majorities is being relentlessly wrecked.

Brace, brace.

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Comments Policy

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Comments are welcome, but they are pre-moderated and comments will not be published if irksome.

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Making the Accession Council inaccessible

26th September 2022

You may recall this blog had a positive post about the broadcasting of the Accession Council:

That detailed post even featured in the House of Commons briefing on the accession of the King:

The broadcasting of the full Accession Council was a boon for the public understanding of the constitution of the United Kingdom, I said.

I even ventured that that further Privy Council meetings could now be televised.

This could be done easily, it seemed to me, as such broadcasts would be in the gift of the King.

Oh what a fool I was.

Of course this welcome shift to transparency would not last.

As reported by the Guardian:

(Highlighting added.)

*

It was too good to be true.

The new King is still the same old Prince of Wales who insisted that his notes to ministers be outside the scope of the Freedom of Information Act.

Prince Hal has not become Henry V.

This is not a bright new morning of royal openness, but a resumption of the tight controls of information that we are used to.

This is such a shame.

The crown had an opportunity to throw obscure parts of our constitution into public gaze, to balance the usual focus on Westminster and Downing Street, to reveal the hidden wiring.

The King had an opportunity to use his control of what can be broadcast to show his engagement with process and practice.

And now, the cloak is too pulled over again.

Oh well, it was good while it lasted.

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Comments Policy

This blog enjoys a high standard of comments, many of which are better and more interesting than the posts.

Comments are welcome, but they are pre-moderated and comments will not be published if irksome.

The comments policy is here.