on its own, but, when piled one on top of another, leading to an inevitable conclusion. The most amazing thing had been the final act passed by the old parliament, in itself an expression of extreme greed and self-seeking that had proven to be an apposite memorial to a broken system.
Still, the six hundred million pounds they had voted to themselves in lieu of future service had been money well spent in his view. Cheap at the price.
The Olympics had been such a good experience. The whole country had rejoiced in the individual sporting excellence of competitors of course, but, above and beyond that, most people had found themselves surprisingly and willingly drawn in to a communal celebration of identity that went far beyond the event itself. Mostly this took a private form involving lots of tissues in front of the television but there had now and again been more public outpourings with huge numbers making an effort to join together in the associated events. Even the die-hard naysayers had been forced into retreat.
But then, as night followed day, the country returned to its everyday reality.
The reality of 2012 was of world crisis, and denial of world crisis. Countries around the globe chased the elusive golden goose of growth as if continual expansion was a realistic possibility as well as a birthright.
In Britain, though, something had changed. The nation had been worn down, like so many others, by years of recession and financial scandal. It had also witnessed its own home grown scandals of political expenses- fraud by any other name, phone hacking and bank criminality. Even though the governments of the day had taken actions in each case these efforts seemed to make no real difference overall. The capacity of the ‘privileged classes’ for the acquisition of money, power and influence was unabated.
But now, against this flood of venality, rose a small voice. It whispered ‘hold on a minute, this is MY country, these are MY politicians, this is MY public service.’ Of course this wasn’t a new voice, but, whereas in years before the voice had always been tempered by the additon of, ‘with respect’, it wasn’t any more. Before, the public attitude to institutions such as government, banks and the press had always been softened with a feeling that, despite appearances, perhaps these people were genuine and meant well. Not now.
It had been clear, even to the meanest intelligence, that there was something fundamentally wrong with a society in which a banker who’d lost his clients, through bad decisions, far more than he had ever gained them with good decisions, could still be rewarded with bonuses and salaries beyond the dreams of avarice. And, to make matters worse, could still have an opinion that was respected.
John Parminter’s mind surfaced from its meandering. The initial induction session was drawing to a close and his working day was about to begin. The new members would be split into manageable groups and taken gently through their new responsibilities. Over the last ten years the process had been developed and refined so that, now, it was possible to cope with most eventualities by referring to precedent. The unexpected still happened though, and one had to remain on one’s toes.
History Lessons
In what used to be the Whips’ office John gathered his charges. Ten individuals, ten life stories, ten different attitudes, ten different intelligences drawn together in one democratic process that would be their life for the next four years.
‘Welcome to your new life. Over the next few days, leading up to the opening of the new Parliamentary session, you will have the opportunity to get to understand your role, to meet sitting members and the bureaucracy of civil servants charged with looking after your needs during your time here. Crucially, during this time you will be instructed on the timetable for this next session. As you may already be aware, Parliament is dealing with a range of continuing economic and social issues, and new things arrive all the time. Your job will be to add your voices to the democratic process. In this new parliament each of you has the chance to change something for the better. We’re sitting in the old whip’s office. In the old days the role of the sitting members who worked in this office was to persuade others within their party to follow the government line. An MP in those days, backbenchers they were mostly called, had an easy life provided he or she voted with the government, or, as an opposition member, with the opposition. This was the path to individual progression, with an MP being rewarded with money, position and power if he played along. Of course MPs had their constituency responsibilities as well, but they had their politically ambitious party workers to fend off the annoying constituents.
I used to be a Member of Parliament in those days. I was elected under my party colours, having been through a selection process that relied as much on my own influence with the selection committee as it did on my having any genuine skills or attributes to bring to the job. Like many others, for me becoming an MP was the way to a good career with a good salary, great working conditions and a pension. I also thought I had something to offer. As a Liberal I fancied that the country had suffered enough from a two party system where each new government of a different colour set about reversing the policies of the previous. But, like so many of my colleagues, once I arrived in this place, as a member whose vote could be ignored, except in very particular circumstances, I quickly grew disillusioned. What I witnessed here, in those days, was, essentially, an abuse of power. The abuse started with an electoral system that told the people that, if they wanted their vote to count, they needed to vote for a party that would have sufficient power to represent their opinions. The abuse continued with the wholesale adoption of this principle by the leading parties, each jealously guarding its historic them or us constituency, aided and abetted by an enormously powerful press.
In that Parliament I was one of more than six hundred MPs drawn together to represent the whole of the UK, or so I thought. In practise I was a waste of space. Now and again I would serve in some committee or other dealing with a subject peripheral to the important issues of the day, and that was useful, but, when it came down to it I was a eunuch. I had very little influence.
In fact, all the important decisions of those days were made by an elite, backed up by unquestioning loyalists who had more of an eye for their own advancement than on the greater good. The Prime Minister, or his cabinet cronies, would come up with a knee-jerk reaction to a real problem and, without reference to anybody else, commit the country to an action that would cost billions or condemn populations to hardships they never deserved.
Imogen, listening to this grand old man dressed in his black robe, missing only the mortar-board hat, thought of her own circumstances. She was nearly thirty and had lived in Bungay all her life. In her head she held a picture of the town when she had been a child, with it’s busy high street and ten pubs. A wealthy and colourful place, each of the ancient houses a different pastel shade or the strong pink of Suffolk, with lots of music. Everybody who wanted one had a job. Not now though. Yes, Mr Parminter was right. Populations had been condemned to hardship.
Her attention came back to the panelled office and the paintings of anonymous politicians, few of whom she recognised.
Despite themselves, now and again this elite would be forced to pay attention to the country it was abusing. It is as a result of one of these little slips in their guard that you are here now.
Forgive me this history lesson, but these events happened some years ago and many of you are too young to remember them. Even those who were sentient at the time may have their own, different, take on events but I would like to use this opportunity to tell the story as I experienced it first hand within these walls. The evidence of what I say can be found within Hansard, the record of parliament since its inception, although there are any number of interpretations available. But I will tell it as I saw it.
As she listened,
