The University Times

In a sense, the idea of abolishing the Seanad has become some kind of a creeping normality. In the same vein as a “shifting baseline” or a “slippery slope”, if you talk about it for long enough, eventually the idea of abolishing a whole house of parliament starts to sound quite normal. Yet very importantly, we’ve heard almost nothing in this debate about the separation of powers principle — something which should really be at the heart of any discussion about democracy.

The core of this idea is that the legislature, the executive, and the judiciary should be separate to ensure that power did not reside with just one entity. In Ireland, the legislature is the Dáil and the Seanad. Ireland’s strong party whip system means that essentially, the cabinet — Ireland’s executive — completely controls both houses. In that sense, it’s very hard to argue that Ireland even vaguely subscribes to this separation of powers principle. Also, instead of the judiciary actually being sacrosanct and separate, it is merely sacrosanct in the sense that it is just forbidden to question the independence of the judiciary. Yet, the cabinet still has the sole power to appoint the Chief Justice, is the complete arbiter of judicial promotions and has control of pretty much every other important position in the courts service. The separation of powers in Ireland is so vague that the constitution itself is the limiting factor when it comes to attempts to set up a truly independent process for the appointment of judges. Only a referendum can allow the Dáil (and the Seanad, if it exists) to legislate for such a process. And because the Dáil and Seanad are always controlled by the government of the day we are stuck in a never-ending cycle, filled with people who wouldn’t know reform if it landed on their doorstep.

There is no doubt that parliaments with single houses can and do work extremely well across the world, and there’s no doubt that our current two-house system has failed us time and time again. Given that, as Fine Gael is so eager to tell us, there are many examples of functioning single-house parliaments, we should be looking at what makes them successful. Do they have stronger separation of powers? What about their judiciaries? How exactly do the legislature and executive remain independent, if at all, given that there is only one house? Only then, can we ask ourselves if the abolition of the Seanad is going to bring us even closer to shutting the door on the fundamentals of democracy.

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Iceland, abolished upper house in 1991

Iceland’s parliament, the Althing, was established in 930 AD, and is one of the oldest surviving legislative assemblies in the world. Iceland was subject to the Danish crown from the fourteenth century until 1944, when it claimed independence, although the Althing had formal control of Iceland’s affairs since 1904, the year it was granted home rule. From 1934 until 1991, the Althing was elected as a single unit, but operated as a two-house parliament. Unlike the Dáil and the Seanad, both the upper and lower house had very similar legislative powers, and bills could originate in either house. At the same time, both houses frequently met together, and after World War II, important matters were almost always considered in joint assemblies. In that sense, the Althing operated as a three-house parliament, meeting weekly in a lower-chamber session, an upper-chamber session, and in a joint-session.

In 1991, the Althing became a unicameral parliament. Structurally, there is no strong separation of powers. Yet in practice, the government and the legislature remain distinctly separate. In contrast to either the Dáil or the Seanad, non-government bills have considerable success in the Althing — so much so that it beats all other Western parliaments in this regard. The move to a unicameral parliament came hand-in-hand with significant committee reform. Committees can meet even when parliament is not in session, and can discuss issues not related to legislation. Iceland’s committee reform is similar to Fine Gael’s proposed committee reform, yet the nature of politics in Iceland is hardly comparable to Ireland: very few politicians in Iceland have held seats for more than ten years, and the concept of a lifetime in politics is unheard of. Bills that originate from committees receive almost unanimous backing in later stages of legislative procedure. In stark contrast to the partisan “politics as usual” in Ireland — the type that will presumably continue if the Seanad is abolished — co-operation in the Althing seems to be the aim of the game.

Local government in Iceland is many times stronger than it is in Ireland. But even at that, in comparison to other Nordic countries like Sweden, it is considered weak. The responsibilities of local government in Ireland can be counted on one hand: public housing, roads, sanitation, libraries and planning permission. In Iceland, on top of those, the very same authorities deal with education up to the age of twelve, social services to do with the elderly and the disabled, public transport, local policing, tax collection, and even civil marriage. The autonomy of regions over their own jurisdiction is guaranteed by Iceland’s constitution.

More recently, Iceland is perhaps one of the only countries which has held the government of the crisis to account, and it has been described as one of the success stories in turning the country around since the crisis. Still, it seems clear that this is due to a more rounded attitude to politics, and not the move to a unicameral parliament.

New Zealand, abolished upper house in 1951

In the same way that the Oireachtas consists of the Dáil, the Seanad and the President, New Zealand’s parliament originally consisted of the House of Representatives, the Legislative Council, and the Governor, who represented the monarch. Established in 1852, this parliament mirrored Westminster in almost every way. Up until the 1860s, the government, formed by the House of Representatives, frequently clashed with the Governor, and Britain had to intervene several times to limit his powers. Since the 1890s, the Governor’s role has been almost entirely symbolic, in a way similar to the President of Ireland. The Legislative Assembly — the upper house — was an appointed body that was intended to both introduce its own laws and slow down the pace of legislation. Members were appointed by the Governor on the advice of the Prime Minister, originally for life, until a seven-year term limit was introduced before the turn of the twentieth century. Problems with the Legislative Council emerged early in the 1860s and 70s, when it tried to take an active role in politics. This, of course, was not welcomed by governments of the day, and from this point on, the house was filled with government supporters.

In 1947, Britain formally ceded power, giving the parliament full control of law in New Zealand. The upper house was abolished in 1951 when the incoming government filled it with what was known as a “suicide squad”, despite several years of discussions about reform and the introduction of a very different senate chamber. Aside from the permanent dissolution of the upper house, there were no reforms introduced.

Superficially, New Zealand is, just as Fine Gael wants us to believe, very similar to Ireland. We have similar population sizes, similar separation of powers, and similar government structures. Cabinet effectively controls the legislature, yet the introduction of mixed-member proportional representation (MMP) has stifled this hold somewhat. MMP ensures that parties don’t receive a proportion of seats more than their overall proportion of the vote. For instance, in the last Irish general election, Labour received 19.4% of the national vote, but 22 per cent of the seats. Fianna Fáil received 17.4 per cent of the vote, but only 12 per cent of the seats. Logically, this disparity makes no sense, and our electoral system — standard proportional representation — has meant that Fianna Fáil, historically, received ten-to-fifteen more seats than its proportion of the national vote.

New Zealand’s local government is weak, just like Ireland’s. Just like in Ireland, power is devolved at the behest of central government. Despite this, local councils, unlike with Ireland’s idiotic local authority budget system, can set their own rates of tax. There are 21 district health boards in New Zealand, which are elected separately from central or local government. The comparison with the HSE is laughable; these district health boards operate within budget, and with excellent service.

Yes, there are many similarities, but there are also many differences between politics in Ireland and New Zealand. Those proclaiming the similarities should be wary of holding it up as an example. After all, there have been several attempts to reinstate a stronger upper house, with the most noise made in 1990, and in 2011 after the financial crisis.

Sweden, abolished upper house in 1947

Sweden is also one of those countries that Fine Gael seems ever so eager to compare us to. Yet if there was ever a democracy that was structured altogether differently while still being within the realms of comparison, Sweden would probably come out on top. And, for Sweden, that’s probably a good thing: The Economist rated Sweden as “probably the best-governed country in the world” and the The Reputation Institute declared it the second most-reputable country just this year. I could go on with the wonderful statistics, but let’s just say that it comes into the top ten whether you’re talking about infant mortality or gender equality. The Swedish parliament, the Riksdag, operated as a two-house parliament from 1866 until 1971. The abolition of the upper house, the första kammaren, included complete electoral reform and moved them to a more directly proportional electoral system. This constitutional revision also included provisions for people’s referendums and civil rights.

The differences between Ireland and Sweden become even more stark the deeper you go. Comparing the two countries in a discussion about abolishing a house of parliament is thus an entirely fruitless endeavour. For instance, twelve members of parliament are elected at the beginning of each electoral period to audit the finances of state companies, as well as ensuring that their operational matters are in line with their stated goals. On top of this, an entirely separate group called the Swedish National Audit Office (NAO) requires that all government agencies submit copies of their annual accounts for review, forming an independent check on the executive branch. This ensures that parliament is provided with an accurate and co-ordinated audit of state finances. The NAO is also responsible for auditing executive power, and conducts performance-based audits.

Committees in Sweden have been extremely strong for more than two-hundred years. The Constitution Committee conducts twice yearly reviews of the executive. In the autumn, the committee criticises everything from delays in legislative enactment to inadequate responses to parliamentary questions. Again, as with Iceland, there is a sense that it is not these oversight mechanisms which make Sweden’s democracy successful, but instead the attitude that is taken to politics: officials in government departments do not brush off these criticisms, but instead take them very seriously. In the spring, the committee investigates the actions of individual ministers, and has complete and unrestricted access to all of the government’s documents and data. Any issues are dealt with by cross-examining ministers, and while the committee cannot dismiss ministers, the media often ensures that they have a fair amount of political influence. There are no committees which review the government in this way, and Fine Gael’s committee reform doesn’t even come close to introducing one.

Local government in Sweden is many times stronger than it is in Iceland and New Zealand, which means that it is infinitely stronger than our weak form of local government. Sweden has gone through immense periods of decentralisation, while we have been moving everything into centralised government departments. Sweden is known as the bargaining democracy. If we are abolishing the Seanad simply because Sweden did so too and they seem to be doing well, then we are most certainly making a mistake founded on Fine Gael’s faulty logic.

Denmark, abolished upper house in 1953

If a country is consistently ranked as one of the happiest countries in the world, then perhaps there is something to learn from it. From 1849 until 1953, Denmark’s parliament, then referred to as the Rigsdagen, consisted of two houses with equal powers, the Folketing and the Landsting. The Folketing was always elected by the common vote, while the Landsting was elected in an obscure way, such that only those who paid a high amount of tax could vote. Before various constitutional changes, the Danish king invariably appointed twelve of the sixty-six seats. The system meant that, of course, only the wealthy were favoured. In 1915, the king lost his right to appoint members, and instead, 18 members were appointed by the outgoing Landsting for a period of eight years.

In 1939, a referendum proposed the abolition of the Landsting in favour of a new upper house, called the Rigsting. The referendum also proposed to create a third chamber of parliament, which was to be a chamber where members of both houses sat — similar to the original third chamber in Iceland. An overwhelming majority — over 90 per cent — voted in favour of the change, but the referendum failed because the voter turnout of 48.9 per cent meant that only 44.46 per cent of the electorate had actually voted in favour, less than a per cent below the 45% constitutional requirement.

A referendum in 1953 meant that the Landsting was finally abolished in favour of a single-house parliament, but this came with a multitude of additional constitutional reforms. The Folketing was expanded to a 179-member chamber. Referendums could now be held on most kinds of laws, once one-third of the Folketing demanded it. This is notable, given that the referendum being proposed in Ireland this Friday removes all of Article 27 from the constitution — the article that provides for the possibility of referring bills to the people. It seems that Denmark — another country held up by Fine Gael as a shining example — also makes for a poor comparison to the decision that’s before us as an electorate. This referendum in Denmark also introduced a parliamentary Ombudsman, whose job it is to investigate all matters of public governance, be it maladministration or requests relating to the freedom of information.

Regional government in Denmark deals with most of the responsibilities that have been centralised in Ireland. Just like in Iceland, the Danish constitution references the right of municipalities to manage their own affairs independently. As with Iceland, Sweden and New Zealand, municipalities have the right to draw tax, and since major reforms in 2007, they have taken control of employment policies, industrial and economic development, specialised social services, environmental control, and adult education. The more that we study governments across Europe and beyond, the clearer it becomes that Ireland is unique in its excessive centralisation of pretty much everything. Even in the past year, local authorities have lost control of the water supply — from January 2014, Irish Water will become the centralised water services authority, assuming all responsibilities from local authorities.

In the end …

If the Seanad was reformed and made stronger, we’d quite obviously be strengthening the legislature. But, as the American political scientist Norman Ornstein points out, legislatures are not monolithic entities any more than the cabinet or political parties are. Instead, they themselves are made up of political parties and politicians with certain interests and career considerations to keep in mind. Strengthening the Seanad, unless we commit to a radical change of the same old “politics as usual”, would still be strengthening the same political ideals of this country. Abolishing the Seanad would probably do the same. The “yes” side are probably right in that if the Seanad isn’t abolished, it won’t be reformed. Enda Kenny seems to think that it simply cannot be reformed. In comparing the other countries that have moved to unicameral parliaments, it becomes clear that we should be voting for radical reform — whether the Seanad is there, or not, it doesn’t seem to matter. But something has to start much deeper.