Corruption

There has been much talk in recent weeks of the presence of corruption in British politics. The Prime Minister and members of the Cabinet appear to be relaxed about accepting gifts from wealthy donors. Keir Starmar is said to have accepted £76,000 worth of gifts since 2019 including £16,200 of work clothing from the Labour peer Waheed Alli, as well as corporate hospitality at Arsenal and Taylor Swift concert tickets. (For an in-depth assessment see Peter Geoghegan, 'Labour and the Lobbyists', London Review of Books, 15 August 2024, pp. 10-12).

Image of the Prime Minister’s official residence at 10 Downing Street, taken from Wikimedia Commons.

Of course, such gifts are nothing new, and the perks Labour ministers have accepted pale into insignificance alongside Boris Johnson's Caribbean holiday on the island of Mustique, courtesy of the co-founder of Carphone Warehouse David Ross, and the refurbishment of his Downing Street flat that was paid for by Lord Brownlow. The idea that being in government brings perks way beyond the imagination of most working people seems to be widely accepted, at least among politicians themselves.

However, there is an issue about the gap that this creates between the Government and those it governs and represents. Another concern is the fact that the gift-givers might expect something in return - such as a blue light escort through the capital or favourable deals and contracts.

Corruption is not a new problem in Britain. As long ago as 1701, a pamphlet was published entitled: The Corruption and Impiety of the Common Members of the Late House of Commons. Its author claimed that the government had fallen into decay and observed that even those candidates who before being elected had insisted that they would be 'True-Representatives of the People' - once in office 'have done nothing worthy of the Name of Englishmen' (The Corruption and Impiety of the Common Members of the Late House of Commons. London, 1701).

While what was meant by corruption in the eighteenth century was not necessarily the same as what is meant by it now, understanding how the term was used then and why it was a cause for concern, might illuminate the issues under debate today.

Image depicting Aristotle. Taken from Wikimedia Commons.

In the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries, concern about the problem of corruption was grounded in the understanding that the British constitution required that the three elements of the system - Crown, Lords, and Commons - needed to be balanced with and against each other, so as to ensure that the whole would operate in the interests of the public good. The notion of balance in government was based on ancient ideas: Aristotle's assessment of the advantages and disadvantages of the rule of the one, the few, and the many; and Polybius's suggestion that a mixed government comprising all three could secure the advantages of each without their disadvantages. This understanding of mixed or balanced government - and of the English parliamentary system as an embodiment of it - was voiced by many on the parliamentarian side during the mid-seventeenth-century Civil Wars. More interesting is the fact that in 1642 it was used by the writers of His Majesties Answer to the Nineteen Proposition to counter the demands made of the King in those Propositions:

There being three kinds of government among men (absolute monarchy, aristocracy,

and democracy), and all these having their particular conveniences and

inconveniences, the experience and wisdom of your ancestors has so moulded this

out of a mixture of these as to give this kingdom (as far as human prudence can

provide) the conveniences of all three, without the inconveniences of any one, as

long as the balance hangs even between the three states (His Majesties Answer to the

Nineteen Proposition, London, 1642).

The pamphlet went on to argue that the demands being made by Parliament in The Nineteen Propositions - such as the requirement that all officers and counsellors be approved by Parliament - if adopted, would disrupt the balance by shifting power from the King to the Commons.

For opposition writers in the late seventeenth and eighteenth centuries it was not the Crown that was at risk from the Commons, but rather the Commons that was at risk from the Crown. As the author of The Corruption and Impiety of the Common Members of the Late House of Commons noted:

It hath been a common and known Practice for this Forty Years last past; for Men of

Confidence and ready Elocution, if they could but procure an Election in some little

Mercenary Burrough, and so get into the House, presently to set themselves to

oppose the King and the Court, that they might be bought off by some good

Gratuity; Pension, or Place (The Corruption and Impiety, p. 2).

‘James Murray’, by Pollard, 1770s. National Portrait Gallery, NPG D32123. Reproduced under a Creative Commons Licence.

In order to control Parliament, the monarch and ministers would offer money, pensions or positions to elected MPs. From 1706 the term 'placemen' began to be used to denote those implicated in this practice. According to the Oxford English Dictionary a 'placeman' is: 'A person who is appointed (or aspires) to a position, esp. in government service, for personal profit and as a reward for political support; a yes-man.' Placemen remained an issue throughout the eighteenth century. In 1774 the Newcastle minister and political activist James Murray spoke, via a thinly veiled reference to the Biblical state of Moab, of representatives selling out to the crown for 'places, pensions, and perquisites' so that the institution that was supposed to represent and protect the people's interests and liberties became a means of enslaving them. The system of places introduced was 'only to be enjoyed by the friends of the court, or such as wished well to its interests'. By this means, those appointed by the nation 'to guard their liberties in parliament, were corrupted, and sold their constituents for a place under, or a pension from the government.' (James Murray, New Sermons to Asses. Philadelphia, 1774, p. 9).

Not long after, the newly established 'Society for Constitutional Information' noted that the public had been repeatedly warned about the venality of their representatives and called for various changes aimed at expelling 'minions of a court from the temple of public freedom' and restoring 'parliaments to their original purity and people to their rights'. (A Second Address to the Public from the Society for Constitutional Information. London, 1782, pp. 9-10). The arguments of the Society on this point were again grounded in their understanding of the balance of the constitution and the importance of the three elements - King, Lords and Commons - remaining independent of each other: 'The moment that either the Crown, the Lords, or the Commons lose their independence, in that moment our Constitution is violated, our Government is overturned, and our Liberty is endangered.' (An Address to the public, from the Society for Constitutional Information. London, 1780, p. 1).

The kind of corruption at issue today is, of course, different from that condemned by James Murray and the Society for Constitutional Information. For those interested in the complexity and history of the concept I recommend Mark Knights’s book Trust and Distrust: Corruption in office in Britain and its Empire (Oxford, 2021). Today there are many sources of corruption, but the bottom line is the dominance of private interests, including those of the rich and the powerful, over the public interest or the common good.

Democracy and the Poor

Various things I have read and observed this month have led me to think again about democracy and attitudes towards the poor, both in the past and today. In this month's blogpost I share some of these reflections.

One task I have completed this month is to write a review for the journal History of Political Thought of the excellent monograph Anti-Democracy in England 1570-1642 written by Cesare Cuttica. Though the book's main focus is the arguments put forward by opponents of democracy, Cuttica convincingly challenges the still persistent view that representative democracy was an invention of the age of Revolution in the late eighteenth century. There are some good reasons for this view, not least the fact that the term 'representative democracy' was not coined until the 1770s - Alexander Hamilton, Noah Webster, and the Marquis de Condorcet all being early adopters. Yet, as I have argued previously in this blog, James Harrington had already developed a sophisticated theory of representative democracy more than a century earlier. Markku Peltonen has since demonstrated that democracy was being positively advocated in England in the period of the commonwealth and free state (1649-1653) (Markku Peltonen, The Political Thought of the English Free State, 1649-1653. Cambridge, 2023) and Anti-Democracy in England reveals that as early as the 1640s a distinction was already being drawn between direct and representative democracy, with the former viewed entirely negatively, but the latter gaining some sympathy and support.

More broadly Cuttica argues that anti-democracy was a dominant discourse in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries; and that this was closely associated with fear of 'the mob', of 'the lower orders'. He usefully unpicks just why democracy was viewed so negatively; one crucial reason being that it was seen as worse than tyranny because it blurred the important distinction between rulers and ruled.

The other reading I have been doing this month has focused on the late eighteenth century. Hostility to democracy remained common then too - for largely similar reasons. There is also evidence that the concept of representative government underwent further exploration at this time. In Britain, particular attention was paid to what was required for representation to work effectively. In The Freemens' Magazine (1774), a text that offers a forensic examination of national and local political issues from the perspective of the freemen of Newcastle upon Tyne, the local minister and political activist Rev James Murray insisted that MPs ought to follow the instructions of their electors rather than making their own judgements on key political issues. In another text, Give us Our Rights! (1782), the leading reformer John Cartwright argued that, without annual parliaments and universal male suffrage, representative government would remain flawed.

John Cartwright by Georg Siegmund Facius, after John Hoppner, 1789. National Portrait Gallery: NPG D19015. Reproduced under a creative commons licence.

Cartwright's commitment to universal male suffrage is particularly striking in the light of Cesare Cuttica's comments about the ubiquity in the seventeenth century of the view that the poor should not have a political voice. Cartwright was explicit - and adamant - that the poor deserved to be properly represented in Parliament: 'Since the all of one man is as dear to him as the all of another, the poor man has an equal right, but more need, to have a representative in parliament than a rich one' (John Cartwright, Give us our Rights! London, 1782. p. 8). While Cartwright's view was by no means that of the majority at the time, it is striking that he was allowed to express it publicly in print. Moreover, as the quote implies, he and other reformers optimistically believed that granting universal male suffrage would, in and of itself, improve the lot of the poor. Writing in the early nineteenth century, the radical author and printer Richard Carlile reinforced this view, declaring: 'The great mass of the People of this country are not only deprived of even the least shadow of liberty, but are deprived of the necessaries of life', the means of correcting this, he argued, was 'the necessary controul of the democratic part of the Government over the other part' (Richard Carlile, The Republican, I:2, Friday 10 September 1819, pp. 34-35).

Sadly the optimism of these reformers proved unfounded in that the introduction of universal suffrage has not eradicated poverty. The franchise was extended to an increasingly wider proportion of the male population in 1832, 1867 and 1884 and to women in 1918 and 1928 - and yet the negative attitude towards the poor remained. As Cesare Cuttica notes, even Thomas Babington Macaulay, who supported the Reform Act of 1832, maintained a strong disdain for ordinary people, describing the multitude as 'endangered by its own ungovernable passions' and insisting that only those with 'property' and those endowed with 'intelligence' should be allowed to govern (Cesare Cuttica, Anti-Democracy in England 1570-1642. Oxford, 2022, p. 244). Even among those who acknowledged the need for a wider franchise, then, there remained a hostile attitude to the poor, a conviction that the poor should not be given a political voice, and an unwavering belief in the need to maintain the distinction between rulers and ruled.

Poster for the stage version of ‘I, Daniel Blake’ at Northern Stage in Newcastle. Image by Rachel Hammersley.

As recent events have proven yet again, many among the political elite continue to view the poor with disdain. The lives of the poorest and most vulnerable in our society also continue to worsen, after having improved somewhat in the second half of the twentieth century. A recent BBC feature on the opening of a stage version of 'I, Daniel Blake', at Newcastle's Northern Stage theatre, suggested that since the launch of Ken Loach's film in 2016 the demands on food banks in Newcastle have increased considerably. Moreover, there have been repeated incidents suggesting that many MPs think different rules apply to them than to the rest of the population. These include: the expenses scandal; the failure of some Government ministers to adhere to Covid restrictions during the pandemic; and the suggestion that the Home Secretary's traffic offence ought to be handled differently from the standard rules that apply to anyone else who is caught speeding. Furthermore, while universal suffrage is not generally challenged, continued attempts are made to silence the political voice of the poorest and most vulnerable. The new rules on voter identification introduced at May's local elections undoubtedly create more of an obstacle for the poor, who are less likely to be in possession of a passport or driving licence, than the rich.

Cesare Cuttica is right to highlight both the importance of anti-democratic thought in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries and to pinpoint the opening up of a cleavage between direct and representative democracy occurring as far back as the 1640s. But it is also the case that the very idea of representation has subsequently been used to reinforce the assumption that political participation is, or should be, restricted to the middle and upper classes, and by these means to turn down - even silence - the political voices of the poor. We need to overcome the lingering effects of political prejudices that date back at least to early modern times.