I’ve written several columns opposing electoral reform over the years, and invariably I get thoughtful rejoinders along the following lines.
First, while it might be true, as I’ve argued, that proportional representation would result in endless coalition governments, what’s wrong with that? It might force politicians to work together, and whatever policies emerge would represent a consensus rather than top-down imposition of the party line.
Second, although our existing system does maximize the likelihood of majority governments, the benefits are not as clear as I’ve suggested. In particular, why should anyone believe such administrations are more accountable?
When Prime Minister Justin Trudeau reneged on his election promise to reinstate lifelong pensions to military veterans, the B.C. Appeal Court offered this masterful understatement: “The idea that inspirational statements by a prime minister containing vague assurances could bind the government of Canada … does not, in any way, conform with the country’s constitutional norms.” So much for political promises.
Now I’m not sure about this latter argument. Yes, politicians can get away with the occasional whopper, yet there are limits to our patience.
Trudeau’s popularity rating has fallen below 50 per cent, and his party is tied with the Conservatives. Abandoned pledges do eventually have consequences.
But I want to come at this from a different angle. The essence of the argument for proportional representation is that it urges consensus, that it frees individual MLAs from party discipline and that it results in decisions more responsive to the wish of the voters. In short, that it produces better government.
I hesitate to call this naïve, but it trades on a form of idealism that bears scant relationship to reality.
Seen from the inside, government is hideously complex. Not only must you carry decisions through tough-minded scrutiny by the planning and finance secretariats, and then through a raucous legislature, but further gauntlets await you in the form of conflict-of-interest impresarios, ombudspersons, auditors, privacy commissioners, fiery public-interest groups and the media.
In no other line of work are there so many institutionalized barriers to progress. Navigating these obstacles for any length of time requires the kind of discipline that only majority governments can impose.
It might be argued the current alliance between the NDP and Greens suggests otherwise. But this is not a coalition government, and it is certainly not a coalition comprising numerous small groupings.
With first past the post, only two, or at most three, parties have any hope of gaining a majority. That means they have to appeal to broad chunks of the electorate.
In essence, they already represent a form of compromise — each must put some water in its wine if it is to have any chance of governing.
But imagine a legislature composed of perhaps half a dozen or more parties, several of them representing single-issue constituencies such as anti-abortionists. With proportional representation, such an arrangement becomes electorally viable.
The smaller parties might not win many seats individually, yet they represent, collectively, a formidable obstacle to consensus-finding. That’s because, being committed to narrow agendas, they have little room to compromise.
This isn’t a legislature, it’s a chamber of irreconcilable differences. Yet depending on the split of the vote, some of these groups would have to be part of any sustainable administration.
Down that road lies the tyranny of minuscule minorities.
Supporters of electoral reform preach the virtues of consensus. But with the legislature fragmented in this manner, there will be no consensus.
Not only have you discarded the broad appeal that a majority government must represent, you have made the imposition of parliamentary discipline well-nigh unachievable.
G.K. Chesterton once remarked cattily: “Genius can turn up anywhere, even in a governing class.” Maybe, but not in a governing class constrained like this.
