A Week in Politics

I was thinking about this last week, partly because my dad popped into the States Chamber to have a look at government in action (my former colleague Philip Falle used to ask whether that was two words or three), partly because there’s another Budget coming up tomorrow, and partly because it’s a year tomorrow since the 12 new States Members elected in 2008 first took their seats.

But it got me thinking about the three stages that you go through sitting in the Chamber:

Stage one: the beginning. The first stage is suffused with hope, with interest, and perhaps a sparkling of respect. Here they are: the 53 people whom Islanders have chosen – ahead of all others – to make decisions. They are the ones to be entrusted with our future. Look at them.

Fairly smart and presentable as a rule, most of them unlikely to see the halcyon days of middle age again admittedly. And if it’s interaction you’re after, the beginning is the best bit. The Bailiff comes in and you stand up. He sits down, and you sit down. They do the roll call, then you stand up. Then the Dean reads out a prayer. Then you sit down. And that’s the end of the interaction.

From here on in, you’re just slumped in a seat, hoping the news editor is going to phone up and say ‘Ha, ha, just a joke Ben, you’re not really covering your sixth consecutive States sitting on a gorgeous June morning – I’m sending someone else down. You’re going on The Classic JEP Ice Cream Sampling Tour of Jersey’s Beaches.’ But this never happens. Instead, you move to…

Stage two: realisation dawns. Remember the slumping? That’s what you’re doing. It may be difficult to believe to those with a smattering of physics, but you slump and slump and slump until finally your centre of gravity is somewhere beneath your chair. No-one knows how that can happen, but it does. You realise what political debate actually is – two people shouting at each other. Not listening at all. Just shouting.

Unfortunately, while realisation is dawning for you, question time is unfolding beneath you. Although unfolding may not be the right word. Happening may not be the right word either because not much is actually happening. The jury is still out on question time – ministers say it’s just a load of name-calling, the opposition say that they are effectively holding the executive to account. You think they’re both wrong. None of this matters to you though, because you’re well on your way to…

Stage three: the rage. Debates go on you see. And on. And on. Normal people can say what they have to say on any given subject in around four or five minutes, tops. But then, normal people don’t get elected. So you’re listening to a 45 minute speech, which is essentially a five minute speech repeated four times, with some strange accusations about anyone who dares disagree with it and a lot of self-aggrandising nonsense about how clever, hard-working and in-touch-with-real-people you are.

Disbelief turns to astonishment, astonishment turns to exasperation, and exasperation turns to sweet, holy rage. Then they all start standing up claiming they’ve got ‘points of order’ that need to be adjudicated by the Bailiff, only none of them knows what a point of order is so they just start accusing each other of lying, which is easier. If you did not start swearing and grinding your teeth by the end of stage two, you have now. Welcome to stage three. Welcome to my world.

This week’s Budget debate promises to be interesting. Treasury Minister Philip Ozouf has been holding on to a few things for his big speech, which threatens to bring a bit of drama to proceedings.

There are only three amendments to the Budget, which is far fewer than any previous years that I can remember but they all appear to have some thought to them.

It would be a little disappointing if the Council of Ministers stuck to their guns – so far they have indicated that they might accept the one put forward by Housing Minister Terry Le Main, but reject the others (by Senator Alan Breckon and Deputy Sean Power).

If Chief Minister Terry Le Sueur cares to look back a year in Hansard, he might find his speech asking Members to give him the job, in which he referred many times to governing by consensus with all Members working together.

Sticking to the line that only the Council of Ministers can come up with anything worth supporting is not quite what anyone thought he had in mind by that.

Onwards, to Dad’s verdict on the States. The first thing to record is that he didn’t say much – fortunately for all of us he never got out of stage two, because he left at the end of question time.

When I asked him for a verdict later on, he just said ‘Oh Christ’. Then silence.