Speak the speech, I pray you

A somewhat philosophical question was put to me recently: why do States debates take so long and what is the value of them?

Certainly, the current term started with the workload on the States’ agendas, or order papers as we now call them, varying wildly from month to month. For the first few meetings there was very little to speak of, or indeed to speak about, but we’ve also had some bumper meetings which lasted a full three days into early Friday evening.

Ask anyone about the duties of a Guernsey deputy and they’ll mention the requirement to attend meetings of the Assembly and participate in questions, debates and voting, hopefully – though sadly not always – to arrive at a definitive decision that can be carried forward for the benefit of the community.

Of course, there’s a lot more to being an effective deputy than that but it is arguably the most public and visible part of the role.

Here are some of the reasons why I think our deliberations can rumble on. And on.

Firstly, there is no time limit on speeches in the Guernsey Assembly, unlike Jersey where 15 minutes is allowed other than for proposers and primary responders. The Jersey Speaker also has discretion to order longer or shorter speeches.

During the debate at which this was agreed two years ago, Jersey deputy Russell Labey said that some debates ‘outlive their usefulness’.

‘There have been some debates where members have been in the coffee room with their ears bleeding saying when will this end? This is a tool to prevent this torture from happening,’ he said.

A 15-minute time limit has been mooted for Guernsey. It was part of the manifesto of the former 2020 Association, a forerunner of the parties that emerged for the 2020 general election. The now chief minister Deputy Peter Ferbrache was a member of that group and ironically is believed to be responsible for the longest speech in political memory, at somewhere approaching two hours. But then old habits die hard. Deputy Ferbrache, as a litigator, spoke for a living whereas I, a former tabloid-style newspaper journalist and sub-editor, am more inclined to precis everything down to the minimum number of words and deliver short speeches.

A Guernsey time limit could still happen – as part of the States Assembly & Constitution Committee’s review of various rules during this term – and would undoubtedly shorten some of our debates, albeit a session in which 30 members wished to speak on something contentious would still last more than a day.

Secondly, a small handful of members seem to feel obliged to speak, often at length, on every single topic, even if it is only to agree with what has been proposed or has already been said by another deputy. Whether such a speech could ever sway the opinion of the Assembly and change the outcome of a debate is, I suggest, unlikely. Perhaps they are eager to get their share of needle time on the radio? If that is the case, this could be a good argument against any future move to televise States debates.

If the mood of the Assembly appears to be fully behind a proposition, should the presiding officer test whether there are any members wishing to speak against? Then again, it could be argued that continuing with a debate even where there is little or no opposition can provide the chance to speak more broadly on a matter tangential to the main subject – an opportunity that might not otherwise arise to air views and ideas in the Assembly.

For example, as a supporter of the arts I tend to jump on such opportunities.

Thirdly, it could be argued that democracy is not served if a debate is not allowed to run its natural course. But how many members go into a debate without already having a strong view on which way they are going to vote? Do any change their minds in the course of debate?

Would more rules and restrictions stifle democracy or liberate the debating process?

There are certainly some members of the current Assembly who appear to be impatiently trigger happy when it comes to calling for a Rule 26.1, that is, to guillotine a debate and move straight to the vote.

Personally, I don’t consider it fair or appropriate to invoke or vote for a 26.1 if one has already spoken in a debate and is now seeking to stop others from doing so. I regret I did break this rule recently and voted in favour, having already spoken. A mistake I will not repeat.

Length of debates aside, here are some further observations from this term:

n Debates are sometimes disproportionately long for the matter in hand – an item about ormers is almost guaranteed to stir up endless commentary.

By contrast, phase two of the Government Work Plan saw the States delegate authority over more than half a billion pounds of capital spending with hardly any debate.

There’s a tendency for some debates unexpectedly to gather momentum with a series of speakers prefacing their remarks with ‘I didn’t intend to speak Sir...’

Some speakers go down rabbit holes or cul de sacs and in the case of some speeches it is initially unclear whether they even relate to the debate in question.

Class clowns. They’ve always existed. I recall the late Conseiller Ron Marquis never failing to raise a chuckle, no matter how serious the issue being discussed, and his peer Deputy Ron Le Moignan – the Two Ronnies of the 1980s States of Deliberation if you like? Some say such levity brings relief to an often tense debating arena. There are one or two examples in the current Assembly – but they’re not everyone’s cup of speciality coffee.

Perhaps long-winded debates, especially when there’s not a great deal on the agenda, are simply a product of human nature? C. Northcote Parkinson, of Parkinson’s Law fame and the late father of Deputy Charles Parkinson, said: ‘It is a commonplace observation that work expands so as to fill the time available for its completion.’

And in that respect this States Assembly appears to be no different to any that have gone before. A characteristic of some politicians is that they appear to quite like the sound of their own voice.