John Bercow: An unorthodox Speaker for an unorthodox age
Friday 1 November 2019 06:27, UK
We've had eight centuries' worth of Speakers of the House of Commons.
One of the most famous occupants of that big green chair was William Lenthall, who was Speaker of the House of Commons during the English Civil War.
His famous words have become something of a guide for his successors.
"I have neither eyes to see, nor tongue to speak, in this place, but as the House is pleased to direct me, whose servant I am here," he said.
The idea was that the Speaker was not a person in his own right but rather a vessel for, and of, the House of Commons.
In one sense, it is clear that John Bercow, his most recent successor, departed from Lenthall's dictum.
He most certainly has a tongue with which to speak and often an acid one at that.
His mercurial style, his love of the limelight, his verbose scolding attacks on MPs, most usually from his former party, have been as controversial as they've been entertaining.
So often he has seemed to both luxuriate in the prominence of the chair, whilst chafing at its limits.
He has been at the centre of bullying and intimidation claims, which he denies and have been largely ignored by the many MPs who curry his favour.
He has made the position of referee, at times, appear as if it itself needed a referee.
And yet there is another tale to tell about Mr Bercow; a tale which, in many ways, shows he has honoured Lenthall's description and will walk considerably taller, than his diminutive height might suggest, in the pantheon of our Speakers.
He has been, in many ways, exactly the servant of the House, the vessel Lenthall talked about, the means through which it has, often under duress, articulated itself.
He strained every sinew and exercised every power available for the Commons to express its wishes.
Whether through the use of urgent questions, the emphasis on the rights of backbenchers, and doing all he can to make the legislature, not the executive, sovereign.
His assessment of our constitution, where the government is - to use Lord Hailsham's famous phrase - an "elective dictatorship", has led to his own remedies: for the Speakership to do it all can to right the balance, to clip the government's wings.
That has led to some decisions which have been novel and departures from precedent.
That has been especially apparent in the Brexit process and led to many nursing grievance against a Speaker they think has been determined to thwart their wants.
However, memories in politics are often short.
It was also this Speaker, when the shoe was on the other foot, who helped them in the prosecution of their cause, against David Cameron's government, who wanted to discuss anything other than Europe.
It was Mr Bercow who allowed those who were then in the wilderness, those same people in the driving seat now, to influence the debate, and some of the consequences therein, that we see today.
And that adverts to something that the common analysis of Mr Bercow often misses.
He has been an unorthodox Speaker partly because we live in an unorthodox age.
The chair has necessarily become more political because has it been forced to adjudicate during a period where majority government has been rare or where the majorities are slim; or during a period where parliamentary process has been central.
A Speaker presiding in a period under governments with healthy majorities, with little in the way of constitutionally controversial business, finds it easy to pass without trace.
One in Mr Bercow's position had no such luxury.
Indeed the role itself, as a consequence of Brexit, has had change forced upon it - just another bit of our constitution warped by the deluge of political change it has wrought.
So often, as I've watched the Commons, night after night, MPs have looked to him to act, almost as an elected head of state might, in a political system which possessed one.
This was never truer than on the night of prorogation, where MPs looked to him to offer some respite from an executive which, it emerged, was acting unlawfully and entirely wrongfully towards parliament.
His writ could do little about it, but at a time when the relationship between Commons and government has been so fraught, it is little surprise he emerged as its doughtiest defender.
Mr Bercow's biggest sin, perhaps, was that he seemed to revel in it, a little too much.