To understand what happened in British politics on Wednesday, it’s perhaps useful to turn to the workings of a popular game show, “Mornington Crescent,” that has been on the radio here for several decades now.
“Mornington Crescent” is, on the face of it, a complex strategy game. In it, players take turns announcing stations along London’s transport routes — the aim is to be the first to get to Mornington Crescent, a tube station on the northern line. It’s a raucous affair — as players exclaim loudly at particularly good moves by their opponents, and cheer when someone wins. They reminisce lovingly about games past. It is also very complicated. Almost every game occasions the introduction of special baroque rules with names like “Trumpington’s Variations” or “Tudor Court Rules,” according to which, each time, players obediently abide.
Regular listeners will also be aware that the game is entirely made up. There are no real rules; at any point a player could “win” “Mornington Crescent” simply by saying the words. They never would of course. It is simply not done. But I was strongly reminded of that possibility this morning, when Boris Johnson broke Westminster’s fragile conventions to announce that he would, to stop his opponents blocking a no-deal Brexit, simply suspend Parliament until a no-deal exit becomes almost inevitable.
He did not put it quite like that of course. His reason, he said — barely keeping a straight face — was to introduce an urgent domestic agenda. But the effect was clear. Mr. Johnson has promised Britain will leave the European Union, deal or no deal, on Oct. 31. His opponents are combing through the system — its rules and conventions — trying to find ways to thwart him. Their latest idea was to force the government to seek an extension of the deadline. Mr. Johnson responded by simply shutting the system down.
This is, of course, extraordinary — a minority government deliberately preventing M.P.s from scrutinizing one of the country’s biggest decisions in memory — and steers close to authoritarianism. There is no conceivable democratic mandate for crashing out of Europe without a deal. Indeed, various members of the 2016 campaign to leave the European Union frequently ruled out this possibility. Mr. Johnson himself said a few months ago that the odds of no deal were “a million to one against.” Forecasters predict crashing out will do the country great harm.
Yet this is the strange place in which Britain finds itself. Here’s the problem. As with “Mornington Crescent,” the rules on which its politics are based are unwritten — in contrast to its French, American or German counterparts — and its smooth workings are held together by convention, good manners and a sense of whether or not something is fair play. There are also few correctives, it is finding out, should someone decide to break with all this.
As Mr. Johnson and the Brexiteers plow on, M.P.s and commenters have tried manfully to keep up with the game. “Ah yes,” they say, at every astonishing break with tradition. “Matters will soon return to normal. If you turn to Appendix VIII, Featherington edition …” (Even on Wednesday, there was debate on whether the Queen herself could or would intervene to end this breach of protocol. She could or would not.) The main players, though, have suddenly realized that they can win much faster by ignoring the rules altogether: “Mornington Crescent!” they chorus, immediately, and the game is over.
The rules are easy to ignore. Britain’s jumbled Constitution is set up that way, easily changed by a vote in Parliament or at a decision of the Speaker of the House of Commons. For years, British lawmakers were wary of tampering with it. But they have grown reckless.
Some cite the carelessness of Tony Blair, who rather brazenly devolved power to assemblies in Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland, and to the people through referendums. Other countries are more careful. Ireland holds referendums, but the rules of its Constitution mean people can hold a referendum only after a bill laying out exactly what it means, in detail, has been passed. Britain held the referendum first, and thought it could sort out the details later.
All of this tampering might not necessarily have led to this, however, had the shame mechanism not broken down. But little by little, the years since 2016 have witnessed a slow wearing away of the willingness to play by the rules that once held this brittle system together.
There was the lying by the Leave campaign; the sudden tendency of party leaders to cling to their posts in circumstances in which their predecessors would have felt that the only recourse was to step down. There was the odd new convention that politicians messing up badly no longer mattered. Two weeks of bad headlines were once enough to finish a career; now shamed ministers are expected to merely weather the storm.
Where does all this leave British democracy? Our current prime minister has learned from his predecessor’s mistakes: She was hamstrung by the rules. But the country is now presented with a prime minister elected by a tiny percentage of the population — his mandate is from Conservative Party M.P.s and members — not the country — deliberately skirting Parliamentary scrutiny to push through a policy that was never voted on. Upholding democracy is the rallying cry of those who wish to see Brexit done. But Brits must start to question whether their island is floating away from the concept altogether.
Martha Gill is a political journalist living in London.