Order, order
The Speakership of the House of Commons has been aptly described as ‘the linchpin of the whole chariot’. This is why the lamentable conduct of Michael Martin, who has occupied the Speaker’s Chair since 2000, is more than just another parliamentary ‘sleaze’ story. By his sheer stubbornness, Mr Martin is behaving with epic selfishness and is besmirching the already sullied institution whose probity he, more than anyone else, is expected to protect. The wheels of the chariot are at risk of spinning off.
This week the Parliamentary Commissioner for Standards, John Lyon, ruled that there would not be an inquiry into the Speaker’s transfer of air miles to members of his family. This leaves unresolved the question of £4,000 of taxi expenses claimed by Mr Martin’s wife, Mary — a controversy which has led to the resignation of his spokesman, Mike Grannatt, formerly a public servant of distinction, who felt that he had been kept in the dark about the detail of the taxi journeys. There is also the matter of the thousands of pounds claimed by Speaker Martin to cover the costs of his Glasgow home, even though the property does not have a mortgage.
To observe him this week has been to watch a man whose authority is dwindling by the day. On Monday, he told the House defiantly that he would not be rushed into publishing the review into MPs’ expenses and allowances. ‘This House has charged me with a responsibility and I will carry out that duty until this House decides otherwise,’ he declared, ‘and that is a good thing for the reputation of this House.’ Yet the very next day the Members Estimate Committee, which Mr Martin happens to chair, backed down and announced that the review, triggered by the Derek Conway case, would, after all, be published before the summer parliamentary recess.
What is at stake in all this is much more than the fate of one chippy Labour MP, whose allies seems to attribute all criticism of his Speakership to ‘class prejudice’. The flummery and pomp that attends his office tempts some observers to see the Speaker as a glorified master of ceremonies decked out in fancy dress. In fact, the Speaker is very much more than that — or ought to be. He or she is supposed to be the incarnation of parliamentary democracy, a figure who rises above party politics to exercise a range of key discretionary powers, such as choosing whom to call in debate, selecting amendments, judging what is sub judice and countering obstruction. In this sense, the Speaker should combine what Bagehot called the ‘dignified’ and ‘efficient’ parts of the constitution: majesty and procedural technicality alike. As Philip Laundy wrote in his history of the office: ‘A Speaker is, or should be, one of the trustees of a nation’s liberties.’ Although the Speakership is usually traced back to the appointment of Sir Thomas Hungerford in 1377, its true founding father was Arthur Onslow, who held the office from 1728 to 1761 and was rigorous in defence of its dignity and probity (even resigning the lucrative office of Treasurer of the Navy to protect himself from controversy). On retirement, he observed: ‘If I have been happy enough to perform any services here that are acceptable to the House, I am sure I now receive the noblest reward for them; the noblest that any man can receive for any merit, far superior, in my estimation, to all the other emoluments of this world. I owe everything to this House.’ An equally significant figure in the evolution of the office was Arthur Wellesley Peel, the son of Sir Robert Peel, who presided over the Commons with similar rigour, serving four terms. ‘I know how necessary it is for any man,’ he declared after his first election in 1884, ‘who aspires to fill that great office, to lay aside all that is personal, all that is of party, all that savours of political predilection, and to subordinate every thing to the great interests of the House at large.’ Peel also understood the inextricable relationship between the health of the Speakership and the will of the Commons. ‘Without the support of the House,’ he said, ‘a Speaker can do nothing; with that support there is little he cannot do.’ Mr Martin should dwell upon these words. But so too should his parliamentary colleagues, who have behaved as craven members of a club rather than guardians of the public trust. MPs whisper of media plots and class warfare, as if the Speaker were under fire because of his roots or his politics. The Prime Minister stretched credulity by declaring Mr Martin ‘a very good Speaker’. Nick Clegg, supposedly a dynamic moderniser, said there had been ‘something of a witch-hunt’ against the Speaker. This is pitiful stuff.
As Charles Moore points out on page 11, self-regulation is essential to the preservation of Parliament’s liberties. Yet the alarming obstinacy and myopia of many MPs is putting these sacred freedoms at risk. This week the Information Tribunal ruled that MPs must provide a detailed breakdown of expenses covering their second homes, power and telephone bills. This is a further humiliation for Speaker Martin, who has long resisted such disclosure. But it should also be a warning to the other 645 MPs of the mood of the times and the perils that lie ahead if they continue to behave unreasonably.
Trust in politics generally is in the gutter. Trust in parliament specifically is depressingly low. In closing ranks to defend this most sub-standard of Speakers, MPs who mouth platitudes the rest of the time about ‘transparency’ and ‘accountability’ have shown how empty these words are when applied to their own affairs. As long as Mr Martin occupies this ancient office, we shall know where our representatives stand, and where their priorities truly lie.
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