What happens if the election really does produce a hung parliament?

A hung parliament is a possible – if still unlikely – outcome of the election on Thursday. Akash Paun discusses what would happen next if no one party has an overall majority once the results have declared. He explains that in the UK system ultimately who forms a government is determined by who is best placed to command the confidence of the House of Commons. 

The recent and dramatic shift in the polls makes a hung parliament a plausible, if still unlikely, outcome on Thursday. Westminster has little recent experience of inconclusive elections – just two since the war, in 1974 and 2010. A second hung parliament in seven years would make things interesting, but it would be no crisis.

The sky won’t fall in

A hung parliament might produce a period of uncertainty about the composition of the new administration. The UK is accustomed to a government being formed immediately, but the sky will not fall in if it takes a little longer for the situation to resolve itself. In 2010, it took five days before the handover from Gordon Brown to David Cameron.

The UK is very odd in its haste to form a new government within 24 hours of the polls closing. Fellow Westminster systems like Canada and Australia wait over a week before swearing in the Prime Minister, even when he or she has won a clear majority.

With Brexit talks due to start on 19 June, weeks of coalition negotiations – as in Germany, for example – would be unhelpful. But that is highly unlikely. If it takes a few days to clarify who is best placed to form a stable administration, then that time should be taken. And if the media can restrain itself from hyperbole about political or constitutional crisis, then all the better.

We have argued for greater clarity about the government formation process, but there are some established principles. So long as it is unclear who is to be Prime Minister, the existing government remains in office, subject to similar constraints as in the pre-election ‘purdah’ period. It is the duty of an outgoing prime minister to hold on until unequivocal advice can be given to the Queen about who should be the next guest for tea at the palace.

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Blueprint for a Constitutional Convention

In a new report published today, Alan Renwick and Robert Hazell examine options for the design of a constitutional convention in the UK. The report identifies and examines twelve key design features that need to be decided. These are summarised here.

 

Proposals for a UK constitutional convention are made by several parties in their 2017 election manifestos and have been prominent on the political agenda ever since the Scottish independence referendum in 2014. Such proposals are intended to address both widespread disillusionment with the state of democracy and deep constitutional challenges, such as those posed by Brexit and uncertainty over the future of the Union. But there has as yet been little detailed thinking about the form that a constitutional convention should take. In our new report, we seek to fill that gap. We examine the issues, explore the lessons to be learned from constitutional conventions elsewhere, and identify the pitfalls to be avoided.

Most supporters of a constitutional convention argue that it should not be a commission of the ‘great and the good’ and nor should it be composed solely of politicians. Such approaches may have been viable in the past, but expectations for democracy have moved on and more direct forms of citizen engagement are now widely advocated. Where fundamental questions about the country’s future form and direction are at stake, the voices of members of the public should be clearly heard. This attracts many to the citizens’ assembly model of a constitutional convention.

A citizens’ assembly is a body of citizens who are selected at random from the population at large. Stratification is used to ensure that, so far as possible, the assembly’s membership reflects the diversity of the population in terms of criteria such as gender, age, and place of residence.  The assembly meets over multiple weekends. First, the members learn about the options that are available and get the chance to quiz experts and discuss initial ideas among themselves. Then they hear from advocates of a wide variety of views – from politicians, campaigners, and members of the public who wish to be heard. Finally, they reflect on all they have heard, deliberate in depth among themselves, and agree conclusions. Those conclusions are written up in a report, which is submitted to government and parliament.

Citizens’ assemblies were first held around a dozen years ago in British Columbia, Ontario, and the Netherlands. The most recent official assembly of this kind is working at present in Ireland: it agreed proposals for the liberalisation of Ireland’s highly restrictive abortion rules in April and it will shortly move on to consider a number of other issues.

There is clear evidence that such assemblies work well: the quality of members’ engagement is very high and they can develop conclusions that are reasoned and coherent.  At least in Ireland, they have also done much to encourage wider public debate and shape decision-making.

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How would Emmanuel Macron govern without a parliamentary majority?

An Emmanuel Macron presidency would not represent quite the political earthquake of a Marine Le Pen presidency, but in some respects it would nonetheless take France’s political system into uncharted territory. Macron’s En Marche! movement currently has no MPs and, even if it performs well at the parliamentary election in June, it is highly unlikely to win a majority. Andrew Knapp explains what this could mean for a Macron presidency, suggesting that the most likely possibility is the formation of a minority government relying on different majorities on different issues.

Emmanuel Macron could still lose to Marine Le Pen at the second round of France’s presidential election on 7 May. If he continues to behave as if he has already won – which he mostly has since his first-round victory on 23 April – voters could return the favour and stay at home for the run-off. Or he could perform disastrously at the debate with Le Pen set for 3 May. Or a particularly fruity scandal could break over his head (his declaration of his own net worth, for example, looks suspiciously modest when set alongside his earnings when a banker with Rothschild’s). Barring these eventualities, however, Macron will become the eighth President of the Fifth Republic: the margin of victory suggested by current polls (62 per cent to Le Pen’s 38), very much greater than that expected for the Remain vote in the UK, or for Hilary Clinton in the United States, could well be reduced, but is unlikely to be reversed. Macron would also be the Fifth Republic’s youngest president by a margin of nine years (the current record-holder is Valéry Giscard d’Estaing, elected in 1974 at age 48).

What then? Would President Macron govern, or merely reign? To categorise the Fifth Republic as a semi-presidential system, which it broadly is, does not take us very far towards an answer, because semi-presidential systems vary so widely among themselves. France’s President is clearly the EU’s most powerful head of state, which is why he (not, so far, she), and not the Prime Minister, represents France at the European Council. But is he also the most powerful head of the political executive of any EU state? That is more debatable. The formal powers vested in the President by the Constitution of the Fifth Republic are considerable, but quite insufficient to govern as he chooses. To do that, he needs the backing of a parliamentary majority. The chances of Macron getting that, in the legislative elections to be held on 11 and 18 June, are very uncertain.

Untangling those presidential powers that stem from the constitutional text from those that depend on circumstance is a favourite pastime of students of French politics. And the Macron case offers a new terrain for speculation in this area because his victory on 7 May would, in certain respects, take France’s political system into uncharted territory.

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Is the Fixed-term Parliaments Act a dead letter?

The ease with which Theresa May was able to secure an early dissolution last week has led to suggestions that the Fixed-term Parliaments Act 2011 serves no useful purpose and should be scrapped. Drawing on wider evidence of how fixed-term parliaments legislation works in other countries, Robert Hazell argues that there is a danger that it is being judged prematurely, on the basis of a single episode. Future circumstances in which a Prime Minister seeks a dissolution may be different, and in these cases the Fixed-term Parliaments Act may serve as more of a constraint.

On 19 April the House of Commons voted by 533 votes to 13 to support the Prime Minister’s motion for an early general election, easily surpassing the two-thirds threshold required for dissolution under the Fixed-term Parliaments Act 2011. In the preceding debate Conservative MPs such as Sir Edward Leigh and Jacob Rees-Mogg argued that the Fixed Term Parliaments Act served no useful purpose, and should be scrapped; while others such as Peter Bone said that it demonstrated the Act was working. Which of them is right? Was this a vindication of the Fixed-term Parliaments Act, in allowing a degree of flexibility, with the formal decision to hold an early election now being made by parliament, and not the executive? Or did it show that the Act is an emperor without clothes, as Sir Edward Leigh put it, because no opposition party can ever be seen to vote against the prospect of an early election?

There is a risk of the Fixed-term Parliaments Act being judged prematurely, on the basis of a single episode. This blog draws on a wider evidence base of how fixed term parliaments legislation works in other countries, set out in our 2010 report on fixed-term parliaments.  Almost all European countries have fixed terms, and in the Westminster world fixed-terms have recently been introduced in Canada, as well as most of the Canadian provinces, and most of the Australian states; only the Australian federal parliament, New Zealand and Ireland have no fixed-term laws, but in Australia and New Zealand the maximum term is three years. These countries show varying degrees of flexibility, with differing safety valves for extraordinary dissolution.

Mid-term dissolution is the most crucial aspect of any fixed term parliament law, balancing the need for government stability against democratic accountability. Key considerations are how and by whom dissolution may be initiated, what threshold must be reached, and any limitations on the process. The coalition government in 2010 initially proposed a 55 per cent threshold for dissolution, but that proposal was widely misunderstood to apply to no confidence motions as well. In introducing the Fixed-term Parliaments Bill, Nick Clegg set the record straight, explaining that no confidence motions would still require a simple majority; but raised the bar for government initiated dissolutions to two thirds of all MPs, based on the two thirds requirement in the devolution legislation. The justification for a higher threshold for government-initiated dissolution is that it should make it impossible for governments to call an early election without significant cross-party support.

But such a dual threshold is rare in other parliaments. Figure 1 sets out the threshold requirements for dissolution and confidence motions elsewhere in Europe.  In all cases the threshold for a no confidence motion is a simple or absolute majority (an absolute majority being of the total number of MPs, rather than of those voting). In those cases where dissolution can be triggered by a parliamentary vote, the threshold is the same

Figure 1. Source: K. Strøm et al, Delegation and Accountability in Parliamentary Democracy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), Table 4.12.

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Monitor 65: Testing constitutional times

The latest issue of Monitor, the Constitution Unit’s regular newsletter, has been published today. The issue covers all of the major UK constitutional developments over the past four months, a period that has included the High Court and Supreme Court rulings in the Article 50 case, the unveiling of Theresa May’s Brexit plan and the election of Donald Trump as President of the United States, plus much else besides. The front page article is reproduced here. You can read the full issue at this link

monitor-65-coverPolitics remains fast-moving. Its unexpected turns have raised fundamental questions about the constitutional order, in the UK and beyond – including the rightful place of voters, elected legislators, governments and judges in political decision-making – as well as the media’s role in questioning those decisions.

Here, Brexit remains the dominant preoccupation. The previous issue of Monitor reported how ‘ministers have repeatedly insisted that they are in charge of the Brexit negotiations and that to reveal their hand to parliament in advance would weaken their negotiating position’. A lot has changed since then.

Following rulings by the High Court on 3 November, and Supreme Court on 24 January, ministers had to accept that they require parliamentary approval to trigger Article 50; at the time of writing, the European Union (Notification of Withdrawal) Bill has now passed through the Commons and awaits scrutiny in the Lords (see page 3). Even before the bill’s introduction, the government had conceded (in December) that its Brexit plan would be published prior to triggering Article 50, and (in January) that this would include a white paper – commitments necessary in order to see off potential Commons defeats. With help from the courts, parliament has rediscovered some of its teeth.

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More than just populism: Renzi, the Italian Senate referendum and the perils of second chamber reform

Roberta Damiani passport-styleMeg-RussellOn 4 December Italians decisively rejected Matteo Renzi’s proposed constitutional reforms, which centred on reforming the Senate – leading to his resignation as Prime Minister. The international media widely reported this as a victory for populism. In this post Roberta Damiani and Meg Russell argue that the referendum result was more complex than that. It demonstrated the perils of referendums on detailed constitutional matters and in particular – with echoes of Nick Clegg’s experience in the UK – of attempted second chamber reform.

Italian ‘perfect’ bicameralism has dodged another bullet. After a long, fragmented, and highly personalised referendum campaign, on 4 December the Italian electorate voted against Prime Minister Matteo Renzi’s constitutional reform by 59 per cent to 41 per cent, on a turnout of 65 per cent. The main elements of the reform would have been to drastically cut the powers of the upper chamber (the Senate), reduce its membership from 315 to 100, and turn it from a directly elected chamber into an indirectly-elected one, comprising representatives of the regions. Vincenzo Scarpetta has previously described what else the reform entailed on this blog.

Opinion polls over the last few months showed a shift towards a No outcome. The latest, published before the two-week ‘electoral silence’, indicated that 54 per cent of respondents would vote against the reform. This time, the polls showed the correct outcome. Prime Minister Matteo Renzi, who had linked the passage of this reform to his government’s survival, resigned the following day. In an emotional speech delivered on the evening of the defeat, he claimed: ‘I wanted to get rid of some seats in Italian politics. I failed, and hence the only seat I can get rid of is my own’.

Many commentators described the possibility of a No victory as the third anti-establishment vote of the year, following the Brexit vote and Donald Trump’s election. The main reason for this interpretation was that Renzi, a little too confident of the merits of his reform, highly personalised the campaign, and bet his political career on it. This naturally meant that his opponents would vote against him, and turned the referendum into a protest vote against the government. Renzi eventually personalised the loss just as much as the campaign: ‘To all my friends from the Yes front I say that you didn’t lose. I lost’, he said in his speech.

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Will Congress be able to hold President Trump in check?

nigel-bowlesDonald Trump will become the 45th President of the United States in January, but will he actually be able to carry out his agenda? Nigel Bowles writes that he will largely be able to. In the areas of trade, security, taxation and judicial appointments Congress will struggle to constrain him under current law and politics. Changing immigration law and reforming the Affordable Care Act are likely to prove more challenging. Nonetheless, during the first year of the Trump presidency American politics is likely to give the appearance of being what it only rarely is: a presidential system. For better or for worse, President Trump really will be in charge.

The United States constitution is Madisonian in design and spirit. Separation of powers and federalism in combination are the structure against which, through which, and by which American politics plays out. Much else matters: party, ideology, public opinion, crises external and internal, leadership’s quality of imagination and purpose, especially. But the system’s architecture is Madisonian. It is not (not usually, at least) a presidential system. Instead, federal government comprises separate but coordinate institutions sharing in authority and in power. Article I of the US Constitution places Congress first in this separated Madisonian order. The symbolism of first place reflects Congress’s abundant richness in authority.

Yet Congress’s authority is limited by recurrent and systematic collective action problems. Those problems spring from Congress’s bicameralism, from its four-party organisation across the two chambers, and from its committee structure. They arise, too from electoral bases of legitimacy: from Senators’ identifications with state interests and cultures, from Representatives’ dependence upon their districts’ majority party voters and party activists for biennial re-election. The collective action problems are exacerbated in the early twenty-first century by ideologically distinct, and typically hostile, Congressional parties; and they are complicated by clashing personal ambitions of legislators. These constraints upon Congress’s authority in turn limit its political effectiveness and, accordingly, its collective capacity to bring about intended effects – in other words, its political power.

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