Westminster and war: Who holds the power in UK?

In my day, the Clerk would declare, in halting Norman French, that “la reyne le veult”. The Queen wills it. Since the accession of King Charles, the clerk cites “le roy”.

Norman French? William the Conqueror? Crossed the Channel? Sorted Harold? That’s the guy.

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These days, Royal Assent is automatic. But this quaint little ceremony is a reminder that sovereignty is not solely vested in the people.

We had a further – and decidedly sharper – reminder earlier this week when the UK joined the US in launching air strikes on Houthi targets in Yemen.

Supporters, the political majority, say it was vital to protect UK and global interests given that the Houthis were attacking commercial traffic in the Red Sea.

Set that aside. Consider instead how the strikes were ordered. The route to US involvement is clear. The US attacks were instigated by the President. The directly elected Commander in Chief.

But things run a little differently under the UK’s mostly unwritten constitution.

The UK attacks were carried out under the Royal Prerogative. The same centuries old system which now obliges the King to assent to legislation. The elected members of the Commons were not involved.

Westminster (Image: free)

So what? So this. What happened to the convention which emerged around the time of the Iraq conflict in 2003 that the Commons would be consulted prior to armed deployment?

Two points. One, the convention, always slightly flimsy, has fallen by the wayside, to some degree.

Two, is it serious to expect advance notice to be given of targeted air strikes – when the targets could presumably shift and dodge the entire purpose of the endeavour?

I appreciate both points. All I ask is that we collectively take note of the issue of sovereignty – which I believe underpins much current political discourse, especially on the Right and particularly post Brexit.

Take the points in order. Firstly, the concept of Commons consultation. After the 2010 coalition, the Liberal Democrats pushed for the convention to be observed except in an emergency – and perhaps even to be enshrined in statute.

A commitment to legislate was outlined by the then Foreign Secretary William Hague in 2011. Never happened. By the end of the Parliament in 2015, it was noted that the case for urgency had not been established.

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Again, so what? British military involvement has continued, with or, more commonly, without prior sanction by MPs. And there was always that exemption for emergency circumstances.

I take the point. I also note that, this week, the Prime Minister took pains to stress the emergency nature of the Yemen attacks.

It was, he said, a “limited, single action”. It was “necessary and proportionate.” But, asked to rule out further such attacks, he declined.

Ditto the Leader of the Opposition, Sir Keir Starmer. While campaigning to replace Jeremy Corbyn in 2020, he backed a new law insisting upon the consent of the Commons in advance of military action.

This week, he said that only applied to the deployment of troops. These air strikes were different. Sitting back and doing nothing would not have been appropriate.

Once more, I acknowledge that argument. It has force. Perhaps, however, we might pause a moment to consider the issue of power, of sovereignty, in a wider sense.

There are limits to British democracy. Generally unstated by those who wield power. Or, at least, under-stated.

The aftermath of an air strike in Yemen (Image: free)

That Royal Prerogative covers acts of war. But also foreign policy and treaties. Public and judicial appointments. And the honours system.

The over-arching concept is the Crown in Parliament. Powers held in the name of the monarch but, in practice, deployed by Ministers.

These powers matter. Remember the prorogation dispute in 2019 when Boris Johnson wanted the Queen, in effect, to suspend Parliament so that his Brexit deal could sidestep persistent scrutiny.

Only a legal battle, vigorously pursued by the SNP’s Joanna Cherry and others, with the involvement of the Scottish courts, thwarted that misuse of the prerogative.

So the courts can set limits upon Ministerial power – although they cannot strike down primary legislation.

This week, the Prime Minister’s Rwanda Bill carried in the Commons. The PM declared it to be an “urgent national priority” that his government should be enabled to deport asylum seekers to the African state, as deterrence.

He noted, without irony, that the matter would now go to the Lords, which he characterised, again without irony, as unelected. He pleaded with them to offer no obstacle.

It would take a heart of stone not to laugh. A Conservative Prime Minister, in effect, minimising and decrying the role of the Lords? The Upper House? The “other place”? Their noble Lordships?

Was his voice heard when others were demanding that the Lords be reformed? Or scrapped? Friends, it was not.

You know, I make no real complaint. The party he leads tends to the perspective that Britain’s unwritten power structure is the envy of the world. And certainly it has the edge upon dictatorship or sham democracy.

But perhaps we might be spared any cod complaints about the role of the Upper House from a Prime Minister who is in trouble with his own side in the lower chamber.

Sovereignty also lies at the core of that dispute. Just listen to the acerbic tone from Suella Braverman when she complains that a “foreign court” could over-ride English judges on the issue of migration.

Just note the UK Government ruling that civil servants must follow Ministerial orders if they intend to ignore the European Convention on Human Rights with regard to asylum seekers.

For Tories on the Right, this is about asserting British sovereignty. This is what they meant by Brexit.

Again, I am picking no side on the substance. But perhaps we might all usefully be aware of the true power battle on these islands.