Chapter X · THE THUMB OF THE PARTY WHIP

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When the electric bells in every room and corridor of the great Palace of Westminster furiously ring out their warning to Members of the House of Commons to hasten to the Chamber, as a division is about to take place, a spectacle may be witnessed which is not the least curious and instructive that Parliament affords. “Hurry up, hurry up,” the bells seem to cry in their urgent clangour. Six minutes are allowed to elapse before the doors of the lobbies are locked. Representatives of the people come rushing in from all quarters. Some are yawning as if they had been disturbed from sleep by the clamour of the bells; others are shouting the last words of business instructions to private secretaries; some, again, are tardily parting from fair companions. Eagerly bustling about in the skurrying throng of legislators are the Government Whips—always greatly excited on critical occasions—crying out to their followers, “Don’t be late! don’t be late!” in unison with the clanging bells.

The debate is over. The arguments have been advanced and disputed. The political question at stake is now to be settled by the weight of numbers in the division lobbies. Many of the Members who thus come thronging breathlessly to the Chamber in answer to the summons of the bells are often ignorant of the particular matter at issue, and therefore do not know exactly how they, as Party men, are expected to vote. Just inside the vestibule of the Chamber, where corridors on the right and left lead to the two division lobbies, one of the Government Whips stands and shouts “ayes” or “noes.” At the cry the doubts of Members dissolve and vanish away. It means that the Ministerialists are to go into the “aye” lobby or the “no” lobby, according as the Government support the question or oppose it. Sometimes not a word is spoken. The Whip simply points with his thumb to the proper lobby, and the sign so crudely given is complacently followed by his docile henchmen. Thus it would seem, to the uninstructed eye, as if the representatives of the people were personally directed, if not conducted, in the way they should vote by the Whips, those agents of that powerful force in political life called Party.

Still, it would be a mistake to suppose that the pressure of Party organization, or the thumb of the Party Whip, makes impossible the expression of independent opinion in the House of Commons. The average Member of Parliament is a thinking being, after all, and not a mere animated voting machine. It must be remembered that the vast majority of candidates for the House of Commons present themselves to the constituencies as the nominees of the central Party organizations. As Party men they are elected or rejected. It is not so much that each constituency binds its representative to join the standard of a particular Party leader, as that the candidate appeals to the electors as the supporter of a particular Party programme, and pledges himself, if returned, to work in the House of Commons for its realization. The representative is accordingly expected to obey the directions of his Party Whips, who are the official heads of the central Party organization, on whose behalf and in whose interest he has been returned to Parliament. A little thought will show that in this there is nothing derogatory to the character, or even to the independence, of the representatives. One of the most curious phases of some contemporary political thought is the belief that the Party fight is, essentially, a selfish struggle for the power, the influence, and the spoils of office, and that between the lines of the high-sounding principles inscribed on the banners of the opposing forces may be read “personal ambition” and “personal aggrandizement.” In truth, Party may be said to be but another name for Patriotism. Interests of enormous importance to the Commonwealth depend upon the Party system. No one who studies the subject carefully can doubt but that the stability and the supremacy of Parliament, and also social and political progress in this country, are best secured by the rivalry and competition of highly organized Parties. To abolish the Party system is impossible, for men of the same views will always combine for the advancement of their cause; but were it destroyed, chaos would certainly reign in the House of Commons, and social and political stagnation would take the place of orderly progress.

But that is not all. Each Party stands upon a bedrock of principle. It may be presumed that every politician joins or supports the Party with whose average political opinion he finds himself most in general harmony. Party allegiance, therefore, or subordination to the Whips, should not press unduly on the conscience of sincere politicians. Submission of private judgment and will may occasionally be necessary for the good of the Party; but even so a man may be a loyal Party man and yet a man of sterling independence of character, holding his political opinions not less honestly, or with less conviction, because they happen to be the opinions of the Party to which he belongs. That Members of Parliament vote for or against proposals simply and solely because the Party Whip, as he stands at the door of the House of Commons, jerks his thumb to the right or to the left would be an unwarrantable assumption. The Whip’s thumb is not blown about by every passing political breeze. Its direction is controlled by a body of serious and deliberate opinion, by settled convictions, by great principles. Conviction and earnestness of purpose are, therefore, not wholly sacrificed to Party interests in Parliament. Of course, there may be in the House of Commons men who, in order to retain their seats, would vote for anything they conceived to be on the popular and winning side, no matter how flagrantly in opposition it might be to their private judgment. But the annals of Parliament, dry and arid though they may appear, are not without being bathed in the gracious light of many acts of courage and self-sacrifice for conscience’ sake. There are many instances of Members of Parliament sacrificing legitimate hopes of official advancement, breaking old ties of friendship, rather than follow their leaders upon a new path which they honestly believed led away from the long-settled principles of their Party, or support a new policy which they deemed unwise or unrighteous.

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Before the World War the representative was assuming more and more the character of a Party delegate. The crack of the Party Whip was a far more powerful restraint upon the M.P.’s freedom of action and speech in the House of Commons than the pressure of the local opinion of his constituency. He had escaped from the bondage of the constituency only to find himself under the stricter and more direct servitude of the Party. Party was rudely shaken by the Great War, but it soon revived its organizations, and recovered some at least of its original power and influence. For instance, the case of the young supporter of the Government, purposeful and ambitious, possessed of ideas and a ready tongue, eager to force himself to the front in the competition for fame and place, was as hard after the War as it had been before. Imagine his disappointment when he finds that in the opinion of the Whips he can best advance the cause of the Government by curbing his desire to strike a rhetorical blow on their behalf, and sitting tongue-tied in his place. In the eyes of the Ministerial Whips, intent on getting through the maximum of business in the minimum of time, the two most admirable qualities in a Member of Parliament are self-effacement and a silent mood. Their ideal of the staunch Party man is he who lays aside all urgings to express his opinions with his overcoat and umbrella at the threshold of the House of Commons. He may put a question to a Minister. He may even indulge occasionally in a faint bleat of criticism in Committee of Supply in reference to some small matter of administration. Such criticism is leniently regarded as the choleric word, but to back it up by forcing a division against the Government is rank treason. The whole duty of a Member, in the opinion of the Government Whips, is to hold his tongue, save when a Minister is speaking, for then he is expected to emphasize the inspired utterances of his leader with cheers, and he may controvert the ridiculous arguments of their protagonists on the Front Opposition Bench with cries of “No, no,” and mocking laughter. It would seem, indeed, as if the independence and initiative of the private Member and the efficiency of the Government he supports were incompatible.

The dissatisfaction of a young and energetic supporter of the Government with the unexpectedly severe and rigid discipline imposed by the Ministerial Whips is all the more bitter as he looks across the floor of the House and finds the Opposition Whips encouraging their youthful and daring cohorts in enterprises of activity and talkativeness. He sees that on the Opposition benches the main limitation to any Member’s participation in debate is his capacity to seize and realize his opportunities. But his own individuality is lost in the serried and silent ranks of his Party. He is but a unit in a large Ministerial majority. To the behest of the Government Whips to keep a silent tongue in his head, he can but say, “All right, not a word.”

There are on each side of the House, for the Government and for the Opposition, two Whips, senior and junior, and three or six assistant Whips, who are nominated by the leader of each Party to act as his aides-de-camp in the ever-waging fight for place and principles on the floor of the House of Commons. They are, indeed, most important personages in the parliamentary conflict. They do not loom so large in the public eye as the Prime Minister or the Leader of the Opposition, whose speeches are reported columns long in the public journals. But just as the fate of a big ocean steamer depends upon the skill and watchfulness of the chief engineer and his assistants, whom the passengers rarely see, so the fortunes of a Government rest on the resource and tact of its Chief Whip and his assistants. On the Chief Whip rests the duty of securing the attendance in the House of a sufficient number of the supporters of the Government at all hours to carry its measures safely over the rock-strewn shallows that abound in the division lobbies. It is not only the safety of Bills, but the very existence of the Government itself, that is at stake. Defeat in the division lobbies may mean the Party disaster of resignation or the dissolution of Parliament. The post of Chief Whip is, therefore, weighted with grave responsibility. He may be observed flitting restlessly about the House and lobbies, consulting with the leaders of his Party, or mixing with the rank and file to ascertain their views and feelings with respect to Government Bills, and to see that insubordination or dissatisfaction, should it manifest itself, is not allowed to spread. Good temper, accessibility, persuasive manners, tact, and prudence are essential qualities in the Chief Whip, if he is to keep his forces in good spirits, and at the same time amenable to a discipline that is often very trying. “A man who can say like a gentleman what no gentleman would say” is a definition of a Whip, which has been attributed to Palmerston. Still more amusingly cynical is Disraeli’s picture of a Whip. He asserted that a good Whip could never make a good Speaker. “How could he sit in the Chair,” said the old statesman, who knew so thoroughly the working of the parliamentary machine, “and look his fellow-Members in the face, if he had been really a good Whip?”

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The post of Chief Whip is much coveted. It has been deemed worthy of acceptance by men of large fortunes, and high and ancient lineage, the heirs of earls and dukes. It is a post of much political patronage and social distinction. Yet it should have few attractions for really able men. The Chief Whip is debarred from taking part in debates. Consequently the principal avenue which leads to success and distinction in the House of Commons is closed to him. Probably no man with the gift of speech would accept the position. Moreover, its duties are most laborious. The vigilance and alertness expected of the Chief Whip necessarily entail much drudgery. Part of the irksomeness of the office is the constant attendance in the House which is required of its occupant. The Chief Whip is bound to be always in his place from the moment the doorkeeper shouts “Mr. Speaker in the Chair,” at the opening of each sitting, until the cry of the same functionary “Who goes home?” what time the lights on the Clock Tower—which tell London that the House is sitting—are extinguished. A Minister may go out to a social function on nights that he is not personally in charge of the business before the House, though he is expected to return in time for the division. But the Chief Whip never dare leave the precincts of Westminster. There is no place where the unexpected so often happens as the House of Commons. The approach of a critical division may loom up at any moment; and it behoves the Chief Whip to be ready to dispatch at once an urgent summons by telegram, telephone, and special messengers to the followers of the Government in the clubs, in the theatres, at balls and at suppers, to hurry to Westminster to save their Party from the discredit, if not the disaster, of defeat. The Chief Whip is the one occupant of the Treasury Bench who is never seen in the late hours of the night in evening clothes. Of course he is bound to practise what he preaches. He has often to say to a follower, “You stay here to-night, like a good fellow.” It is only proper that he should set the example.

The post of Chief Whip is not, however, without its recompenses and its rewards. He fills an office in the Administration which was formerly styled “Patronage Secretary,” and is now called “Parliamentary Secretary to the Treasury.” It is an office to which the substantial salary of £2,000 per annum is attached, but it carries no official duties, so that the Chief Whip, being free of departmental work, can devote himself entirely to the important task of securing the presence of a Government majority in the House of Commons at all hours of the sitting; and it has become the custom, at the end of his term of office, to make him a peer. The office is a survival of the time long ago when the Government bought up all the political consciences that were for sale in Parliament, and paid for them, sometimes in cash down, but more frequently in preferments and pensions. There is, of course, no traffic of that kind now. But the Chief Whip is still the channel through which honours for Party services are distributed. If a Member of Parliament desires a knighthood or a baronetcy or a baronage he first approaches the Chief Whip, who conveys to the Prime Minister his wish to be added to the list to be submitted to the King for titular distinctions. The assistant Ministerial Whips are appointed “Junior Lords of the Treasury”—also sinecure offices—at salaries of £1,000 each.

On important occasions, and particularly when critical divisions on great Party issues are expected, the Chief Whip issues to his followers a printed circular setting forth the business of the day. The circular is called “a whip.” Its importance and urgency as a summons are expressed by the number of lines with which its injunctions are underscored by way of emphasis. The parliamentary wit, Sir Wilfrid Lawson, once said that a one-line whip means “you ought to attend”; a two-line whip “you should attend”; a three-line whip “you must attend”; and a four-line whip “stay away at your peril.” During the last Gladstone Parliament, in which the Government had but the small and precarious majority of forty votes, Mr. Marjoribanks, the Chief Whip, resorted to a new kind of summons, unique in its peremptory character. Red is pre-eminently the colour of danger. So the Liberal Whip underscored his summons with a thick red line. It seemed to shout, “Come, or there will be a smash-up of the Government and a General Election.”

As a specimen of a five-line whip, which formerly denoted the highest point of urgency, the circular sent out by Mr. Akers Douglas, the Conservative Whip, on the occasion of the second reading of Gladstone’s first Home Rule Bill in 1886 is of special interest, the measure having been rejected, amid a scene of wild excitement, by a majority of 30 in a division of 652 Members.

MOST IMPORTANT

On Monday, June 7th, the House will meet at 4 o’clock.

The Debate on the 2nd Reading of the Government of Ireland Bill will be concluded, and a Division of the most vital importance taken.

Your attendance not later than eleven o’clock is most earnestly and particularly requested.

A. Akers Douglas.

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To remain at Westminster during the whole time of a sitting of the House of Commons is most trying to many Members. The atmosphere of the place, lying low by the side of the Thames and artificially heated, is stuffy and enervating. Members can hardly be blamed for desiring, in the course of the evening, to get a blow of the fresh air on the Embankment or in St. James’s Park—the two favourite promenades of M.P.’s, especially in the long summer evenings—to go home to see their wives and children, to dine at the club, or to seek change of scene in the theatre. But if a critical division be impending, a supporter of the Government finds it difficult, if not impossible, to escape, unless he has “paired.” At the exit door of the Lobby, leading to the cloak-room, two of the Ministerial Whips do sentinel duty in turn. These young gentlemen are fair-spoken and suave, but behind their engaging manners lurks the despot. Their duties are weighty, their orders are imperative. To any member of their Party who thinks of going away unpaired they firmly, resolutely, but gentle, address reasons why he must just turn back, unless he can give a definite assurance that he will reappear in time for the division. Their mission is to see that there is always a majority present, so that there may be no “snap divisions,” a favourite ruse of the Opposition in the hope of defeating the Government at some moment when the attendance of Ministerialists is lax. The ruffled feelings of the Member thus stopped at the door must be tactfully and soothingly smoothed out by the Whips. But the arguments of the Whips addressed to a good Party man always prevail; and, disappointed in his hopes of spending a few hours at home or at the club, he returns, with more or less content, to one or other of the distractions provided to relieve the irksomeness of his detention at Westminster—a cigar in the smoking-room, a book in the library, or a stroll on the Terrace. It is no part of his agreement with the Whips that he should go into the Chamber. All that he has undertaken to do is to remain in the precincts of the building within sound of the division bell. When the division is called he lays aside his book or cigar, joins the flood of Members pouring into the House, and, knowing nothing, perhaps, of the question in dispute, looks out for that clue to the proper lobby—the raised thumb of the Whip.

Thus no Member sitting on the Government side of the House is supposed to leave unless he is “paired.” He must find someone on the Opposition side who wants a free leg himself for the same time—be it an hour, a sitting, a week, or a month—the two thus neutralizing each other’s absence in any divisions that may take place while they are away. In one of the division lobbies there is a desk with a sheet of paper on which a Member who wants to pair writes his name and the period during which he wishes to be released from attendance; and when he is balanced by an opponent he is free to go. At the top of the paper is printed the following rules, which were adopted by the Conservative and Liberal Whips at the opening of the session of 1905 for the regulation of this very curious but most convenient system called “Pairing.”

1. Night pairs and sitting pairs mean the same thing, and in future will be termed sitting pairs.

2. In the event of an all-night sitting, sitting pairs will expire at 9 a.m. the day after the commencement of the sitting. After that hour Members will be free to vote.

3. Members who take a portion of a pair arranged for more than one day are debarred from voting during the currency of that portion, and are, therefore, not free to vote after 9 a.m. in the event of an all-night sitting.

4. Members can break, alter, or transfer their pairs by mutual consent, but a Member may not break, alter, or transfer his pair in the absence or without the consent of the Member with whom he has paired.

5. A Member who is unable to communicate with the Member with whom he is paired can only break, alter, or transfer his pair by the consent of the Whips on the other side, and only if the pair was made through them.

6. No pair shall be entered into during the continuance of the leave of absence granted by the House, but leave of absence may be applied for during the existence of a pair.

7. If a motion for the closure is made and put from the Chair before the time has been reached for which a pair has been made, the Member is free to vote on that motion, and in all divisions consequential on that motion, although during the closure division or the division consequential upon the closure the time is reached from which the pair would otherwise be operative.

There is a good story of a “pair” having been arranged by rival Whips on a critical occasion, which I must tell. After the division one of the Whips said to the other, “It’s all over now, but I ought to explain that my Member broke his leg, and so could not attend.” “Oh, you bad man!” exclaimed the other Whip. “But I forgive you, as the man I paired with yours was dead!”