For hundreds of years men and women have been meeting in the House of Commons to make mooing noises and wave rolled-up bits of paper at one another. It was like a petting zoo for people in suits. But last week that all changed. There was an eruption. A seismic event so vast it triggered earthquake warnings in Japan. The Mother of Parliaments had been holed below the waterline by a torpedo. This was the Kursk, the Towering Inferno and the Challenger all rolled into one.
Details of this political enormity were splashed over the pages of every newspaper. My social media feeds were filled with it. And on the television “breaking news” banners told us there’d been an outburst of fury and the sort of wailing only normally seen at a Hindu funeral. From the sound of things, Starmer and Sunak had been in there firing AKs at each other from the hip. I was therefore keen to find out what had actually happened.
So the following morning I read all of the reports. First of all normally, and then again, very slowly, while tracing my progress down the column inches with my index finger. And afterwards I literally had no idea what had happened. There was talk of amendments and parliamentary time and it was all gobbledegook.
So I rang up some people, and only now am I starting to get an idea of what this unholy row was all about. It’s this: for three days a year, tiny political parties are allowed to host their own opposition days. It’s a big deal for them, and on Wednesday it was the turn of the Scottish National Party, which wanted a vote on whether there should be a ceasefire between Israel and Hamas.
The result would be inconsequential, partly because the government is allowed to completely ignore the outcome, and partly because a vote like this is not going to cause Mr Netanyahu to slap his forehead and say: “I’ve been a complete idiot. I shall ground my combat jets immediately.”
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Let’s not forget that his brother was the only Israeli soldier killed in the raid on Entebbe, and it’s fair to say the grudge he holds about that far outweighs the opinion of the honourable member for Aberdeen South.
Achieving a ceasefire, however, wasn’t the point. That’s not what the SNP really wanted at all. What it really wanted was to force all the Labour MPs into a yes or no answer to its motion. Because, thanks to some linguistic chicanery, “yes” would mean accusing Israel of breaking international law, and “no” would mean killing more Palestinian children. Having to choose between those options would split an already deeply divided party clean in half.
Of course, Sir Starmer’s merry band of flip-floppers knew immediately what the Scotch were up to, which is why one of them, Chris Bryant, tried to delay proceedings by giving everyone his thoughts about the 2018 Vienna road traffic convention. On and on he went, giving Labour Party high-ups a chance to “have a word” with Lindsay Hoyle, the Speaker of the house …
Who then returned from this bare-knuckle chat and — deep breath, everyone — said: “Because the operation of standing order No 31 would prevent another amendment from being moved after the government have moved their amendment, I will, exceptionally, call the opposition front bench spokesperson to move their amendment at the beginning of the debate, once the SNP spokesperson has moved their motion. At the end of the debate, the house will have an opportunity to take a decision on the official opposition amendment. If that is agreed to, there will be a final question on the main motion, as amended.”
To normal people this is the most boring thing anyone has heard since James May last spoke to us about Copernicus. But in the Commons they knew what he was on about and they went nuts. The Scotch said he’d ruined their big day and walked out. The Tories all snarled. And the mooing became so loud that even here, 70 miles away, my cows wet themselves.
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In essence, the Speaker’s long and boring sentence had somehow derailed the Scottish plot, so no one got to vote on their Gaza thing, and he had to say sorry because it looked as if he’d done the Labour Party a favour. However, while he was saying sorry, things got very interesting indeed.
Even people who understand how parliament works seem to have missed it, but I didn’t. Because the Speaker said he’d scuppered the vote because he was concerned for the security of MPs. Yup. He wasn’t going to force them into a public decision that might not go down too well with some of their more hot-headed constituents.
Where does that end? Does he knacker a vote on bankers’ bonuses because those who vote to abolish them could be punched in the face by the boss of HSBC? Does he use a nifty parliamentary shuffle to prevent a vote on beef farming because MPs who back it may have some lettuce thrown at them by vegan hardliners? Yes, Gaza is a tricky subject. Feelings are running high. But what exactly is the point of an MP if he doesn’t feel able to express his opinion? We don’t pay them for their sincerity, do we?
The big question, however, is what on earth can be done about this worrying development. Because I fear the Speaker does have a point. If an MP voted for something that displeased a constituent in the olden days, the constituent might write a strong letter or perhaps visit him or her next time there was a surgery. But we live in a time now when people express their displeasure using half-bricks and acid.
Even abstaining on votes doesn’t help because that’s seen as acquiescence. And that merits a street-corner kicking as well.
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We have, I’m afraid, become extremely intolerant of everyone who disagrees with our point of view. So I wonder: are we getting to a point where MPs have to become like Taylor Swift and surround themselves with bodyguards? Maybe, if we want the government to actually function, we are.
