Salting the Mind | Matjaž Gruden

Educated people who often read Wikipedia know that the Great Charter of Liberties, or Magna Carta Libertatum, was created in England in 1215 to limit the power of the reigning monarch, King John (Lackland). It emerged from disputes between King John and both the Pope and the English barons over royal privileges. The Magna Carta stipulated that the king had to relinquish certain powers, adhere to specific legal procedures, and agree that his will could be constrained by law. It was the first step in a long historical process leading to the rule of law.

The English, then, have had democracy in one form or another for over eight centuries. This gave rise to the witty saying that democracy is like English grass: you plant it and then wait a few hundred years for it to grow. The English are said to be excellent gardeners, but even the best sometimes find weeds sneaking into the lawn. One such weed episode occurred in the early 1990s when The Guardian revealed that Conservative members of the British Parliament had accepted bribes in exchange for posing sponsored parliamentary questions.

Because no real democrat in the position of prime minister would tolerate—let alone encourage—unscrupulous politicians tossing a spanner into the democratic works (as the English might say), then–British Prime Minister John Major decided in 1994 to establish a special committee on standards in public life. After a year of meetings and deliberations, the new body, chaired by Lord Nolan, published a report outlining seven principles of public life, which unsurprisingly came to be known as the Nolan Principles. The committee's conclusions and advice were short and to the point. With a large enough font to be legible to any member of the House of Lords without glasses, they fit on a single A4 page. Read it once and Bob’s your uncle, as the English say. And yet, despite their brevity, simplicity, and clarity, some politicians seem to find even these few rules an insurmountable and uninteresting hurdle.

Here’s what these pesky principles say:

Selflessness. Public office holders must act solely in the public interest. Good grief, the English must have bats in the belfry, as they might say. Whose interests do they think public officials could otherwise serve? In our country, such questions aren’t even asked. Everyone claims to work "for the people" and "for the future."
Integrity. Office holders must avoid any obligation to individuals or organizations that might unduly influence their work. They must not act or make decisions for personal financial gain or that of family or friends. They must declare and resolve any conflicts of interest. In the cash-for-questions scandal exposed by The Guardian, it was this principle that had been violated. Setting a price list for parliamentary questions and legislating for personal financial interest is a blatant and crude breach of democratic norms. Just imagine something like that happening here! That would really take the biscuit, as the English say.
Objectivity. Decisions must be made impartially, fairly, and on merit, using the best available evidence and without discrimination or bias. For those who find this abstract, consider the opposite: making decisions unfairly, dishonestly, without evidence, and with bias and discrimination. The latter may be easier for some to recognize.

As with most rankings, the stakes rise with each step.

Accountability. Public officials are accountable to the public and must submit themselves to the scrutiny necessary to ensure this. In other words, if a politician messes up, makes a mistake, or breaks the law, they have no right to point fingers, scream, or intimidate the whistleblower. They must acknowledge and accept the consequences. Eat crow, as the English say.
Openness. Officials must act and make decisions in an open and transparent manner. They must not withhold information unless there are clear and lawful reasons for doing so.
Honesty. Public office holders must be truthful. Not a little, not occasionally—never lie. Not even to blow off steam, as the English might put it. Not even on Twitter. Even if you write that a retweet is not an endorsement. Never. A politician shouldn’t be bent like a barrel of fishhooks, as the English might say. Fat chance, their cynical compatriots might reply—and not without cause.
Leadership. Public office holders must exhibit these principles in their own behavior. They must actively promote and uphold them and be willing to challenge poor behavior wherever it occurs. This last point is especially important. In a society striving for integrity and a truly functioning democracy, it’s not enough for leaders to personally abstain from bad behavior. They must also be willing to speak out and condemn misconduct by others—especially their own political allies. This goes double for those in the highest offices, which carry prestige and demand moral authority. That’s why it matters that we elect statesmen—and not spineless squid. As the English might say.

The point of this piece is not to lecture—"salt the mind," as Slovenians might ironically say—on how well the British or any other Western country practice democracy. I’ve lived abroad long enough to know that even a long-standing democratic tradition offers no foolproof protection against populist temptations. Since Boris Johnson moved into Downing Street, British public discourse often speaks of a “post-Nolan era.” But the fact that others can go off the rails shouldn’t be a source of comfort or an excuse for us to do the same. Especially since our democracy is still more fragile.

After all, more than 800 years have passed since the English clipped the absolutist wings of King John (Lackland). We, on the other hand, are dealing not with weeds vying for space on centuries-old turf, but with invasive species spreading across vulnerable patches of democratic growth barely thirty years old—saplings in our own neck of the woods. As you know who might say.