Imagining representative democracy

Is it possible the RU486 debate gave us a momentary, teasing glimpse of the democracy we might have had, and might still have if we had the courage to grasp it?

I watched the debate in both Houses quite carefully, and what I saw was a parade of parliamentary backbenchers who had quite clearly struggled personally with the issues at stake. They had consulted with their constituents and trusted advisers, wrestled with their consciences, laboured over speeches (although who came up with “permeate through the annals of our nation” for Senator Joyce?), and delivered them with force and sincerity.

Sure, leaders and ministers spoke too, but it was the backbenchers who impressed me.

At the end of the day the division bells rang out in each House and parliamentarians found themselves sharing a bench with their traditional foes. And when the counting was done, the government position was defeated. (OK, it was a private senators’ bill, and a conscience vote - let’s say the position supported by the Prime Minister and the Health Minister was defeated.)

The result was that a minister lost powers which he had previously held - and, staggeringly, the sky didn’t fall. Was it supposed to? Well, in a way, yes.

The ironclad party discipline which characterises politics in Australia has reached the point where prime ministers have virtually unchecked authority over their backbench, subject only to the potential for a leadership challenge. The philosophy holds that the government (that is, the prime minister) must win every vote at any cost. Crossing the floor, even on something as minor as the division of a schedule in a trade practices amendment bill, is national news.

By all accounts, after the Prime Minister had made his views known, and the Health Minister had declared the RU486 vote to be a motion of no confidence in himself, the loss of the vote should have raised a parliamentary ruckus. Yet it did not. Before the House of Representatives chamber had even cleared from the final vote, normal service had resumed.

After RU486, I began imagining - always dangerous - a parliament where, instead of declaring “conscience votes”, the parties declared “party votes”.

On the bills critical to the government’s election platform or supply bills, or censure motions and confidence motions, the party could require all of its members to toe the line.

On other bills which may be important within their policy confines but hardly amount to a test of the government’s capacity to govern, the party could refrain from calling a party vote, allowing its members to do just what they did for RU486 - test the electorate, wrestle with their conscience, debate in committees and the chamber, and finally vote in the national interest.

In reality, the government would win most of those votes as a majority of members in each House are government members and can be expected to support their leader more often than not. But there might be amendments and speeches from government members stating that they will support the bill - but reluctantly.

Government members might be more ready to join with their colleagues to implement committee recommendations for amendment. And the occasional delegated instrument might be disallowed. These outcomes would be inconvenient for the government, but hardly fatal.

The upside would be a legislature which actually legislates - where members and senators debate, discuss, negotiate and compromise.

Yes, I thought this was a pipedream too, until I saw them actually doing it, on RU486.

OK, enough pipedreams, and on to practicalities. Why doesn’t this happen already?

Well, the first reason is authority. It takes a long time to become prime minister. Our current prime minister - a treasurer under Fraser, twice opposition leader, and once an election loser - waited a prodigiously long time. The last thing he wants, having eventually won office, is to have his own backbench vet his legislation - except, of course, this already happens in the party room and the parties’ backbench committees.

Last year’s backbench revolt over refugee detention, for instance, spilled into the public arena and made for some headlines, but hardly threatened the government. Would it have mattered if government MPs had been able to express their views in the parliament itself?

The second reason is ambition. The prime minister hands out ministerial positions, so any backbencher who hopes to climb the greasy pole had better just show up for divisions and stay out of the headlines. Rebels, on the other hand, not only fail to make the ministerial grade - their pre-selections are put in doubt. But these devastating consequences for relatively obscure acts of “disloyalty” are really linked to the third reason for the current state of affairs - habit.

Because floor crossing, or members criticising their own party position, is so rare, it becomes newsworthy. Honestly, was Barnaby Joyce’s floor crossing last year newsworthy for any reason other than the rarity of the event? The legislation was hardly worthy of blanket media coverage. Far more important bills receive far less media attention.

Did his action have any serious or long term implications for the government? Not that one could see, even a few short months later.

So why all the fuss?  Because it was rare. And, while the habit of blind party obedience remains intact, floor crossing will remain rare and therefore newsworthy.

One gets the sense, though, that it wouldn’t take much to kick the habit. If there was a series of floor-crossings on relatively minor bills, would the second be as newsworthy? Or the fifth? And would the tenth even be reported?

The message for backbenchers, then, is simple. True parliamentary democracy is there for the making and taking. Those who commented in their RU486 speeches on their pride in such a sincere, honest debate can have as much more as they dare to take.