Athelstan has long faded from public imagination, despite being the king who, in 927 ad, first united England. But thanks to a campaign by historians such as Tom Holland, David Woodman and Michael Wood, the 1,100th anniversary of his coronation last week was celebrated with a memorial service, a new biography and the naming of a train in his honour.
Athelstan’s kingdom fragmented after his death, but its brief unification reminds us of the deep history of England and its constitutional order. What followed from Athelstan was the rule of law, parliamentary sovereignty, Magna Carta and the Bill of Rights: principles that have survived for centuries and inspired imitation across the world. That our constitution is uncodified, and therefore evolutionary, makes it perhaps more impressive.
Yet the adaptability of the British constitution leaves it vulnerable to unfortunate accretions. The most serious of past generations are those brought in by New Labour. Tony Blair introduced Scottish and Welsh ‘parliaments’, which have become nationalist talking shops, and a Human Rights Act that is today an invitation to violate our borders. One of the most regrettable developments of New Labour tinkering has been the Ministerial Code, now elevated to holy writ.
The Ministerial Code is an imperfect combination of day-to-day adviceand high-minded expectations
Documents outlining rules and standards for ministers had existed for decades, but the Ministerial Code was only formalised under Blair. Designed as a guide to conduct in public life and enforced by an independent adviser on ministerial interests, the Code has become, per historian Peter Hennessy, ‘part of the spinal cord of the constitution’. Breaking the Ministerial Code is treated as a grave offence, with constant lobbying to strengthen it from inside and outside of Whitehall. When Sir Laurie Magnus, the current ethics adviser, last week found Angela Rayner guilty of breaching the Code, it was taken as read that her position was untenable.
A guide for ministers as to how their offices work has obvious merits. But no document can cover all aspects of ministerial life. The Ministerial Code is an imperfect combination of day-to-day advice and high-minded expectations – the impractical twinned with the unrealistic. For example, if the prohibition on leaking was strictly enforced, few ministerial careers would last long. Or take some ministers’ insistence on high standards among staff, perhaps sending back multiple revisions on documents late into the night: there are times when such acts might meet the threshold for bullying.
While it is up to Sir Laurie to decide whether the Code has been broken, it is, theoretically at least, for Keir Starmer to judge whether a breach is a sackable offence. Control of ministerial appointments remains his prerogative. Who a prime minister selects to serve in government is a political as well as ethical choice. Starmer may have been tempted to keep Rayner in post, yet failing to sack her would have brought a chorus of execration – the accusation that he was leading a government as disreputable as those he replaced or that ignoring the Code would be an affront to the constitution.
Starmer and Rayner were hamstrung by their treatment of Conservative infringements of the Ministerial Code while Labour was in opposition. When Boris Johnson failed to sack Priti Patel after she was accused of bullying staff, Starmer described him as having been ‘found wanting’; when Nadhim Zahawi found himself in tax difficulties, no Labour frontbencher was more zealous than Rayner in demanding his resignation. Upon entering office, they further empowered Sir Laurie by enabling him to launch investigations without Starmer’s approval.
This was not just point-scoring, but a sign of Starmer’s basic instinct: that officialdom and process can be trusted more than political judgment. The former Director of Public Prosecutions is an institutionalist before all else – a product of the ascendancy of quangocracies, departments, civil servants and judges often branded ‘the Blob’.
Last year, Starmer spoke of his desire to slash bureaucracy, reform public services and challenge Whitehall’s ‘tepid bath of managed decline’. Such language is not natural to him but the product of advisers who understand the problems facing Westminster. Of course, civil servants objected; Starmer apologised and promised an ‘end to the chopping and changing of political priorities’. This is Starmerism at its core: the depoliticisation of government and the strengthening of officials.
Which is why this government has lacked a clear political direction from the start. In a little over a year, Starmer has announced more than 30 ‘priorities’. He now suggests Labour’s ‘phase two’ will focus on living standards, public services and security. With Shabana Mahmood’s promotion to the Home Office – she described herself to this magazine as a ‘social, small “c” conservative’ – he hopes to take a tougher line on border control. But the next relaunch is no doubt just around the corner. Who remembers the ‘island of strangers’? Principle, not process, is what creates stable government.
Some have seen Darren Jones’s appointment to the new job of Chief Secretary to the Prime Minister as a step in the right direction. A Department of the Prime Minister has long been mooted, a mechanism for imposing the executive’s political will on Whitehall. If building such a department is the intention, Jones must rapidly expand the number of special advisers who can challenge Whitehall on Starmer’s behalf. This would be uncharacteristic, to say the least.
But if Starmer is not willing to be radical in reshaping the centre of government, his premiership will continue to be overwhelmed. With a deputy leadership contest, a party conference and a Budget looming, Starmer has little time to reset his government – and little chance of reunifying the state like a constitutional Athelstan.
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