Dissenting Radical

The Common Good: A 'Christian-Left' perspective on radical theology, progressive politics, authentic culture and sustainable living.

The 6-Rs of Constitutions

Here’s a handy alliterative aide memoire for the functional elements of constitutions.

I call it the 6-Rs.

1. Representation and referendums (franchise, electoral systems, terms of office, direct democracy provisions).

2. Relationships and responsibility (how institutions of govt interact, separation of powers, checks and balances etc).

3. Rights (human rights and enforcement mechanisms).

4. Recognition, religion and respect (national identity, language, church-state relations, status of minorities etc).

5. Regions (sub-national govt, federalism, localism).

6. Reform (how the constitution can be amended).

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How do we address the needs of 45 vs 55 or 39 vs 61 or 48 vs 52? Winner takes all is pretty grim..

There is indeed a problem with snap referendums deciding major issues on a knife-edge. Super-majority referendums is one way to go – although it opens up theoretical difficulties about the nature of constituent power. A stricter absolute majority rule (50%+1 of total eligible voters). May in practice have a similar effect without raising these theoretical problems. It will tend to favour the status quo (because, on expected turn-outs, it means a clear majority of those who vote must be in favour), but in principle political equality is maintained.

Another possibility is to hold sequential majoritarian referendums: let’s say, there’s a period of 5 years (one complete electoral cycle) after which a second referendum is held. If that second referendum confirms the first, then action is taken. Again, it does not speak directly to the need for minority protection, but it does prevent snap decisions by thin majorities.

My default is against federalism and consociationism and in favour of splitting into smaller states (within overarching frameworks that provide for international co-operation in matters such as defence and trade). Over-engineered consociationalism doesn’t seem to be a stable solution and it doesn’t lead to good governance outcomes. Federalism incurs all sorts of costs in terms of accountability, transparency, efficiency and good government which are simply avoided in smaller, more homogenous, unitary states. Independence is often the neatest, simplest option.

My preferred solution to ‘minority within minority’ problems, when these are territorially concentrated, is partition. India is better off for not having Pakistan be part of it. Ireland is better off for not having to accommodate the angry and oppositional population of the north. That is a consistent application of the principle of self-determination, and I think it is also self-limiting (in that partition or secession-from-seceding states at some point runs up against limits of viability and practicality, at which point it can go no further- there’s no real prospect for ‘the republic of me and you and I’m no so sure about you’.

Of course, when minorities are not territorially concentrated, it is more difficult. When these minorities are defined by characteristics such as ethnicity, language etc, it may be possible to incorporate forms of group autonomy into an essentially unitary constitution (as in Kosovo).

However, in the Scottish case, there are just differences of opinion, not differences of being. My suspicion in the Scottish case is that if Scotland were independent, unionism would very quickly change from a constitutional position to a foreign policy position. There would be those in Scottish politics who would seek closer relationships with England (and Atlanticism generally), while others would seek closer relationships with Europe. I expect that actual opposition to their being a Scottish state would dissipate within a relatively short time. This may or may not be the case in Catalonia.

Inclusive citizenship rules and scope for dual citizenship, together with reciprocal rights to live and work in the two countries, may also be helpful in smoothing anxieties – this was the case with the independence of Ireland, for example.

Thoughts on Catalonia

I’ve stayed out of the Catalan issue. It’s ‘not my circus, not my monkeys’. I have always been suspicious of attempts to link the Catalan and Scottish situations too closely, because their constitutional situations are so different. My tendency has been to frame Scottish independence in ‘British-imperial’ terms, to see Scotland’s move from direct rule, through devolution, to independence as a Commonwealth Realm as simply the unfinished business of the transformation of the British Empire into the Commonwealth. I’ve sought to compare Scotland to places like Canada and Australia, Jamaica and Malta, in achieving a negotiated and mutually recognised constitutional independence.

In doing so, I have drawn some criticism from the radical left of the Scottish independence movement, who have accused me of opportunism, cowardice or lukewarmness. But my intention has always been to avoid situations that can make things worse. Independence can be difficult. Transitions often are. By pointing to the already independent nations of the Commonwealth, rather than to the other independence-seeking nations of Europe, I have tried to show that Scotland can achieve independence peacefully, democratically, and on a sound democratic constitutional basis. No one – least of all those in favour of independence – want blockades, embargoes, border-patrols, capital flight, or any of that nonsense. We are trying to be grown up and sensible about it. And we do that on the basis that the UK has a good(-ish) track record of granting countries independence when they really show they want it. All we had to do was show that we wanted it enough, and the peaceful, lawful way would be made.

Catalonia is not in that position. The Spanish state has refused all attempts at parley. It has been intransigent and uncompromising. The referendum of 1 October might have been unrecognised according to Spanish law, but the use of state force to disrupt a peaceful exercise of popular sovereignty was a sign that the Spanish government has complete disregard not only for the constitution it claims to be defending (which, after all, is supposed to defend freedom of expression and freedom of assembly), but for the principles of democracy that stand behind, above, and prior to, that constitution.

The Catalan situation reminds us that the cause of national self-determination is inextricably linked to the cause of democracy. That’s not to say every nation must necessarily be independent, but it must have the democratic right to determine its own status. In the words of the Scottish Claim of Right, I defend ‘the sovereign right of the people to determine the form of government best suited to their needs’.

This principle of popular sovereignty is at the foundation of constitutionalism and the origin of all legitimate government. If the state tries to crush that, it has already lost its legitimacy.

So, I’m not Catalan (but I have plenty of relatives by marriage who are). Whether Catalonia decides to become an independent state is up to them. But their right to decide is a right which all democrats everywhere must defend.

Every time you reorganise, you bleed.

When people ask me how I can support Scottish independence but oppose Brexit, I have many answers, but one of those answers reminds me of a military axiom that I first encountered at Dartmouth: ‘Every time you reorganise, you bleed’. (I think it was attributed to General Patton, or Admiral Nimitz, or someone like that.)

The essence of this pithy quote is that there are always costs to institutional and organisational change. Even beneficial change. Along the way, to get from where we are to where we are going, things get lost, broken, upset and disarranged. Established patterns and routines are disturbed and new patterns and routines have to be found. Collective knowledge and experience is lost. It’s a massive headache – and a financial cost too. It’s not something you’d do unless the expected benefit resulting from the change greatly outweighs the foreseeable costs of undertaking the change.

Scotland becoming an independent state within the EU would be a relatively minor change – a change, yes, but one without immediate catastrophic economic disruption, because of the two Unions in which Scotland is embedded, the EU is far more important in terms of its regulatory frameworks and economic structures than the UK. The costs and complications of the UK leaving the EU far outweigh the costs and complications of Scotland leaving the UK and staying in the EU. There’s just no comparison.

It is, in fact, the very existence of supranational structures like the EU that makes Scottish independence possible and desirable: the intention is not isolation or separation, but ‘member state’ rather than ‘regional’ status. Before the EU, we had the Commonwealth, and the SNP’s founding aim was for Scotland to have ‘dominion status within the commonwealth’ – which, at the time, had embryonic structures of international trade and military co-operation. Scottish nationalists do not want to be alone. Ours is not an isolationist, still less a chauvinistic, nationalism. It is a civic, democratic, inclusive type of nationalism, which simply demands that Scotland be entitled to the same respect and the same status as other countries. All that those who support independence ask is that we take our rightful place as an equal member of a community of democratic states – be that the Commonwealth, was it was in the 1930s, or the EU today.

 

Getting my ambitions down

1. I’d like to make a difference on constitutional issues around the world, strengthening democracy, human rights, good governance etc.

2. I’d particularly like to make a contribution to the Scottish constitutional question, culminating perhaps in working on the actual constitution of an independent Scottish state.

3. I’d like to spread public knowledge of constitutional matters through my teaching and also through writing for popular audiences, in newspapers and blogs, and by doing radio and TV interviews.

4. I’d like, through my research and writings, to leave a lasting intellectual contribution to the field of constitutional studies.

5. By keeping myself informed, voting wisely, writing to representatives, and contributing to public debate, I’d like to make a positive contribution to the common good in a range of policy areas, especially with regard to health, education, poverty reduction and alleviation, worker’s rights, peace, and the environment.

6. In my teaching and mentoring, I hope to inspire and encourage others, both to pursue their studies and to use their knowledge for good.

7. I’d like to be a good local citizen of wherever I find myself, in little ways: picking up litter, helping people who look lost, buying locally where possible, etc.

8. I’d like to use my excess income to transform lives and reduce suffering, both through acts of charity for those in need and through financially supporting campaigns to end systemic causes of distress.

9. I’d like to be a good husband, good father, good brother, good uncle and good son.

10. I’d like to start my own Liberal Arts college, which goes back to the essence of a university as a ‘community of scholars’ and which focuses as much on character, leadership and values as it does on academic work.

The case for Scottish independence, briefly restated.

The case for Scotland independence is not (never really has been, and cannot be) about ‘nationalism’, at least not in the ethnic or cultural sense. The case for independence is anti-imperial: its motivation lies in the hope of a new democratic order, and in the replacement of a political system developed for the benefit of metropolitan, financial and imperial elites with a political system developed by and for the ‘whole community of the realm’. The aim is to build a country at peace with itself, dedicated to the idea that there is such a thing as the common good.

 

Plus ça change

Once again, I’m reminded of the strange similarities, on a day to day basis, between being a naval logistics officer (which is what I used to do) and being a research academic in an intergovernmental democracy support organisation (which is what I do know).

Sign this, check that, organise the other thing, call so-and-so, make this happen, manage this budget, keep accounts, write brief, fill in the spreadsheet, interpret the rule, sit in meetings, comply with the procedure, write letter asking for permission not to comply with procedure, go to cocktail party. The substance differs, but the processes are exactly the same.

The only real differences are that I no longer have to carry so many keys.

Song of the South: Tangential reflections on the recent events in Charlottesville.

The only America I know is the South. The only states I’ve visited are Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, Tennessee, and North and South Carolina. That’s my mental image of America: not a New York skyline or a Las Vegas strip, but a steamy south full of pickup trucks with gun racks, little shacks on the side of the roads with signs like ‘Fried Chicken, Boiled Peanuts and Live Bait’, NASCAR, bluegrass, and college football.

But a lot of the people I met there – friends of friends – didn’t fit the media stereotype. They were proud southerners, but not aching for the restoration of the confederacy. They had degrees from places like Duke, Emory and UNC Chapel Hill. They spoke with southern accents, but in eloquent sentences. They were all Christians, but not reactionary fundamentalists. They were all white, but they were not white supremacists. I’m not saying that these are necessarily representative of the South – they are, obviously, a minority. But they are part of the South, and often they have been its social, cultural and intellectual (if not its political) leadership. The South is more than slavery and Jim Crow.

Yet the fact remains that slavery and Jim Crow have left deep scars in the South, distorting its economy, politics and society to this day – and the South needs to repent of that past if it is to heal present wounds and build for itself a better future.

A message to a Facebook ‘friend’

 

Dear….,

 

I’m disquietened by some of your your recent Facebook posts. You say you have nothing to do with the alt.right, but you keep on sharing links that seem associated with the alt.right without much explanation.

Much of what you say is critical of ‘the left’, but because you shoot so widely your points don’t hit their mark. There are indeed many legitimate criticisms to be made against the excesses of identity politics and gender politics. Parts of the cultural left do indeed have a rather smug, oppressive and patronising tone. But that’s not the left that I recognise; the left I recognise was formed in response to the European class struggle, not American culture wars. Just because the cultural politics of (some parts of) the American left are silly and irksome doesn’t mean that the left’s economic objections to neoliberalism, or complaints against poverty and gross economic inequality should be ignored. After all, we are where we are not because social democracy failed, but because neoliberalism failed.

If you are a cultural conservative who wants to preserve traditional values, I can respect that. Although I suspect, from past conversations, that you are more of a Whig (a liberal in the classical rule of law and limited government sense). I can respect that too. I might not agree in whole, but both traditional conservatism and Whiggery are respectable political positions that a reasonable person of goodwill might hold, and about which a civil, constructive debate might be had. What I cannot understand, though, is why any Conservative or Whig would line up alongside the defenders of Donald Trump, whose actions are those of a petty demagogue – yet that’s exactly what you seem to be doing.

Above all, I am concerned that you seem to be drawing a false equivalence between a certain strand of the left that is merely smug, petulant and annoying, and a far right – now in the highest reaches of power – which has become positively dangerous.

You are free to do that, of course. But if you have a point to make – not snide, sniping little points, but some kind of overall argument – then it would be better if you put it clearly, in your own words. What are your politics? What do you stand for? What do you stand against? What are your foundational principles? What’s your vision? Let your political position be overt, and so subject to rational argument. Simply reposting links and memes without comment, or with brief and cryptic comments, only serves to distract without contributing much to actual discussion.

Yours,

Elias Blum

Dissolution Powers in Westminster-Derived Constitutions.

Introduction

For centuries, the dissolution of Parliament in the United Kingdom was a matter of Royal Prerogative and its use was governed solely by convention. By the second half of the nineteenth century it was clear that the right to request a dissolution lay with the Prime Minister alone, and the major constitutional works of that period – including Bagehot’s ‘English Constitution‘ and J. S. Mill’s ‘Considerations on Representative Government‘ were adamant that such a power, concentrated in the hands of the Prime Minister, was essential to the stability and effectiveness of the British system of government. It meant that no Prime Minister could be thrown out of office by a parliamentary vote of no-confidence without first having an opportunity to appeal directly to the people in a general election. That made the Prime Minister far more primus than inter pares and contributed to the emergence in the UK of a top-down, ‘prime ministerial’, democracy.

The Fixed Term Parliaments Act 2011 brought that to an end. Although introduced to shore up the Conservative-Liberal Democrat coalition, this change had long been on the agenda of democratic reformers, who sought thereby to reduce prime ministerial domination over Parliament and increase the ability of Parliament to hold Governments to account. The Scottish national movement provides a fascinating insight into such critiques. A draft Constitution for an independent proposed in 1964 provided that Parliament could not be dissolved without the consent of a majority of its members. Another draft, published by the Scottish National Party in 2002, provided that early dissolution would be possible only in a situation where a government could not be formed. The Scotland Act 1998, much of the substance of which was negotiated in the Scottish Constitutional Convention, adopted a formula very similar to that of the UK’s Fixed Terms Parliament Act: early dissolution of the Scottish Parliament is possible only if assented to by a two-thirds majority, or if a First Minister is not nominated within 28 days.

The failure of the Conservative Party to win an overall majority in the United Kingdom’s 2017 general election probably means that the Fixed Term Parliaments Act 2011, which the Conservatives had threatened to repeal, is safe for now. Yet if it were to be replaced, or if a future written Constitution either for a federal UK (or an independent England, or England and Wales) were to be developed, some attention to the comparative practice of other Westminster-derived Constitutions may be beneficial.

Dissolution Powers in Westminister-derived Constitutions

The first generation of Westminster derived constitutions (those of Canada, Australia, New Zealand and South Africa) followed traditional British practice, relying on polite fictions and unwritten conventions to regulate the power of dissolution. Two situations arising in the Commonwealth helped give shape to these conventions. In Canada in 1926, the Governor-General, Lord Byng, refused Liberal Prime Minister Mackenzie King’s request for a dissolution, as it appeared (although this turned out not to be the base) that an alternative government led by the Conservative party could be formed. In South Africa in 1939, Prime Minister Herzog, having been defeated in the House of Assembly, asked Governor-General Sir Patrick Duncan to dissolve Parliament; the Governor-General refused, and instead invited the then Leader of the Opposition, Jan Smuts, to form a government – which continued in office, with a small majority, until 1943.

These two situations were relied upon by Sir Alan Lascelles, the private secretary to King George VI, in his 1950 formulation of what were to become known as the ‘Lascelles principles’. These allowed the head of state to refuse a request for dissolution only where three conditions were met: that (1) ‘the existing Parliament was still vital, viable, and capable of doing its job’; (2) that an election would be ‘detrimental to the national economy’; and (3) that the head of state could ‘rely on finding another Prime Minister who could carry on his Government, for a reasonable period, with a working majority’.

The second generation of Westminster-derived constitutions sought increasingly to shift away from reliance upon merely conventional rules, in favour of explicit legal provisions in the constitution. This trend was evident in the republican constitutions of Ireland (1937) and India (1950), and was extended to the constitutions of the Commonwealth realms in the Caribbean, the South Pacific, and elsewhere, in the 1960s and 1970s.

In converting what were once merely conventional rules into explicit constitutional provisions, the authors of these later Westminster-derived constitutions were able to place different limitations and exceptions upon the right of the Prime Minister to dissolve Parliament.

The Constitution of Ireland (Art. 13) notably provides that ‘Dáil Éireann (Lower House) shall be summoned and dissolved by the President on the advice of the Taoiseach (Prime Minister)’ and that ‘The President may in his absolute discretion refuse to dissolve Dáil Éireann on the advice of a Taoiseach who has ceased to retain the support of a majority in Dáil Éireann.’ In other words, as long as the Prime Minister commands the confidence of the House, the President has no discretion, and must grant a dissolution if requested. There is, therefore, nothing to prevent snap elections, called at the timing and convenience of the Government. However, if the Prime Minister has lost the confidence of the House, the President may refuse a dissolution. This potentially enables a change of Government, by the realignment of party politics, during the lifetime of a Parliament.

In some post-colonial Constitutions, the power of dissolution ceased to be a royal (or Prime Ministerial) prerogative. The Constitution of the Solomon Islands (1978) provides, for example, for a fixed term of four years, unless ‘Parliament decides by resolution supported by the votes of an absolute majority of the members of Parliament that Parliament should be prorogued or dissolved’ (Constitution of the Solomon Islands, section 73).

In others, all traces of a discretionary reserve power to refuse a dissolution have been eliminated. The Constitution of Jamaica, for instance, provides (section 64(5)) that the Governor-General ‘shall act in accordance with the advice of the Prime Minister’ in the exercise of the power of dissolution. This is subject to only one proviso, that ‘if the House of Representatives by a resolution which has received the affirmative vote of a majority of all the members thereof has resolved that it has no confidence in the Government, the Governor-General shall […] dissolve Parliament. In other words, there is no limitation on the ability of the Prime Minister to dissolve Parliament at will.

Jamaica in unusual, however, in that alongside a vote of no-confidence in the Government, which will automatically lead to a dissolution, the Constitution also makes provision for a ‘resolution to revoke the appointment of the Prime Minister’ (Section 71(3)). If such a resolution is adopted, then the Prime Minister is removed from office by the Governor-General after three days, unless within that time the Prime Minister advises the dissolution of Parliament. This provision still leaves all the initiative and freedom of action with the Prime Minister, but at least it offers a little flexibility: to resign or to dissolve. Assuming that this is a deliberate design choice and not a slight inconsistency of drafting, the only plausible explanation I can discern for the difference between Section 64(5) and Section 71(3) is that a vote of no-confidence in the Government implies fault or failing by the Government, whereas a vote to revoke the Prime Minister is more morally neutral – and was perhaps intended as a way of allowing the governing majority party to change its leader, and thereby replace the Prime Minister, without necessarily forcing a general election. 

In allowing the Governor-General no discretion to refuse a dissolution, the Constitution of Jamaica is an outlier. Other Westminster-derived constitutions of similar vintage seem to handle this differently. In many, the influence of the Lascelles principles can be clearly seen – although the ‘detrimental to the national economy’ requirement has been quietly dropped, or has been broadened to encompass the concept of a dissolution not being ‘in the public interest’.

For example, Art. 76 of the Constitution of Malta (1964) states that Parliament is dissolved by the President on the advice of the Prime Minister, but that in the following circumstances the President is relieved from having to act on the Prime Minister’s advice, and can act in accordance with his or her own discretion:

  • (a) if the House of Representatives passes a resolution, supported by the votes of a majority of all the members thereof, that it has no confidence in the Government, and the Prime Minister does not within three days either resign from his office or advise a dissolution, the President may dissolve Parliament;
  • (b) if the office of Prime Minister is vacant and the President considers that there is no prospect of his being able within a reasonable time to appoint to that office a person who can command the support of a majority of the members of the House of Representatives, the President may dissolve Parliament; and
  • (c) if the Prime Minister recommends a dissolution and the President considers that the Government of Malta can be carried on without a dissolution and that a dissolution would not be in the interests of Malta, the President may refuse to dissolve Parliament.

The essence of these provisions is that the Government must have the confidence of Parliament (para. a), that a Parliament which cannot support a Government must be dissolved, to allow the people to elect a new Parliament (para. b), and that a Government which has lost the confidence of Parliament cannot insist upon a dissolution without the head of state (or governor-general) at least having the possibility to explore the formation of a new government without a dissolution (para. c).

In other words, in the event of a vote of no-confidence in Malta, the President can take a personal appraisal of the political situation. The Prime Minister may choose, in the first place, to resign or to advise a dissolution. If the Prime Minister advises dissolution, the President may accept that advice. However, if the President considers that ‘the Government of Malta can be carried on without a dissolution and that a dissolution would not be in the interests of Malta’ – i.e. that an alternative Government could be formed without a dissolution, then the President would be within his or her rights to refuse a dissolution, and – under Art. 80 of the Constitution of Malta – to ‘appoint as Prime Minister the member of the House of Representatives who, in his judgment, is best able to command the support of a majority of the members of that House’.

The Maltese formulation also provides a limited protection against snap elections, at least against snap elections being called frivolously or vexatiously. Although it must be imagined that a refusal on such grounds would be more open to political criticism, it might be acceptable if invoked, for example, to prevent a Prime Minister whose party has lost an election and who has not yet resigned or faced a vote of no-confidence from calling another sudden election in an attempt to reverse the result.

Another neat solution appears in the 1947 Constitution of Burma, which states:

“The Chamber of Deputies shall be summoned, prorogued or dissolved by the President on the advice of the Prime Minister:

Provided that, when the Prime Minister has ceased to retain the support of a majority in the Chamber, the President may refuse to prorogue or dissolve the Chamber on his advice and shall in that event forthwith call upon the Chamber to nominate a new Prime Minister:

Provided further that, if the Chamber fails to nominate a new Prime Minister within fifteen days, it shall be dissolved.”

 

Dissolution Powers in Practice

Votes of no-confidence and dissolutions of Parliament are the two ‘nuclear options’ of parliamentary democracy, by which the deadlocks inherent in a presidential system are avoided, and a harmonious and constructive working relationship between Government and Parliament are maintained. The basic dynamic is that the Government arises from, leads, and directs, the parliamentary majority, and thus have overall responsibility for the conduct of public affairs (except for such matters as are constitutionally insulated from the Government, such as the operation of the courts, ombudsmen, independent commissions etc). However, the Government only has this ability so long as it maintains parliamentary confidence – if that confidence is withdrawn, the Government must either (according to the specific constitutional rules in place and the circumstances of the case) resign or dissolve Parliament.

In most Westminster-derived democracies, it is very difficult for a vote of no-confidence to pass, especially in those with plurality electoral systems (tending to produce two-party politics) and small very Parliaments (and hence a small ratio of Ministers to backbench MPs). It requires a sufficient number of the governing party’s own MPs to break ranks and to vote with the Opposition on a matter of confidence or supply to bring down the Government. This is unlikely to occur except in the very gravest of circumstances, and in those circumstances it is perhaps necessary that there should be a dissolution to allow the people to express their ultimate verdict. However, since the effect of a dissolution is almost always going to be electorally suicidal for MPs of the governing party, including for those who trigger the vote of no-confidence, its most practical consequence must be to place the Government in an almost unassailable position of immunity from parliamentary accountability (which, indeed, appears to be the case in much of the Commonwealth Caribbean).

Recommendations for Constitutional Designers

Given these political realities, the difference between a constitution provision such as that of Jamaica, which gives the Governor-General no discretion, and that of Malta or Ireland which does allow the Head of State to play a balancing role, might be merely academic. Although Malta’s unicameral Parliament is elected by a form of proportional representation (and despite the fact that there is now one MP from a third party), Malta remains for the most part a stubbornly two-party system, with tight party discipline. In consequence, although Governments have fallen at the hands of rebellious backbenchers, no situation has yet arisen in which Malta’s Head of State has had to refuse a dissolution.  Even in Ireland, where multi-party politics and coalition Governments have been the norm, the President has never used the power to refuse a dissolution – although on at least one occasion the President did intimate that the power might be used, should the Prime Minister request a dissolution rather than resigning.

Yet the fact that these provisions are seldom used does not mean they can be ignored by constitutional designers. The fact that dissolution is a such a drastic procedure, not to be used lightly and likely to be invoked only in times of crisis, means that the rules governing and restricting its use must be clear, sensible and legitimate.

Moreover, since the power of dissolution is intimately related in a parliamentary democracy to the process of government formation and dismissal, the nature of the dissolution power may have important consequences for the nature of the relationship between the Prime Minister, Cabinet, Head of State (or Governor-General), and the voters. A Parliament that cannot remove a Government except by risking its own life will be in a weaker position, vis-a-vis the Government, than a Parliament that can remove a Government from office and at least attempt to form an alternative Government without facing a dissolution.

As a common complaint against Westminster Model is that it concentrates too much power in the Prime Minister, and fails to provide sufficient checks, balances, and accountability, those seeking to improve the quality of democracy in countries with Westminster derived Constitution should consider their options carefully. Procedures such as those of the Maltese Constitution, and to a lesser extent that of Ireland, allow the Head of State some personal discretion in refusing a dissolution following a vote of no confidence. That might be the best option in a Republic. In a monarchy, however, even this limited discretion may be too much to entrust to a hereditary head of state, and in that case provisions such as those outlined in the Fixed Terms Parliament Act and the Scotland Act, which require Parliament to authorise its own premature dissolution (with or without the 2/3rds majority requirement, which gives the Opposition a veto on snap elections) ought to be considered.