Once Christmas Day’s out of the way and we’re stuck in that no man’s land between one year and the next – known, tweely, as ‘Twixmas’ or, if you’re posh, the ‘interregnum’ – one thing guaranteed to make the front pages is the announcement of the New Year’s Honours List. News of the worthy – and not-so-worthy – recipients will be released, and we’ll get to see who’s been elevated to the Lords, knighted or handed one of the lesser gongs. Among the very deserving recipients will be those who make you think: hang on a minute – how did that happen?
When news broke that former prime minister Tony Blair was to be made a Knight Companion, more than a million people signed a petition calling for the honour to be blocked. Nothing came of it because the award was a personal gift from the late Queen Elizabeth II, although it was noted that former prime ministers are customarily rewarded for their service. Blair’s omission had been stopping his successors from being recognised.
Given the accusations of political patronage and cronyism surrounding the honours system, it’s legitimate to ask: is it broken? As lovely as it is to see people who’ve worked selflessly and tirelessly for years to make the lives of others better getting an MBE or OBE, watching disreputable characters who’ve done almost nothing to earn them being given a higher honour sticks in the craw. It only reinforces the idea that the system is corrupt.
But the rot isn’t new. ‘Cash for honours’ scandals – whereby wealthy individuals make large donations to political parties in return for titles – have erupted periodically since the 19th century, when peerages were first handed to industrialists. Under David Lloyd George, people were selecting from a ‘menu’ of honours – £40,000 for a baronetcy and £10,000 for a knighthood – with the proceeds propping up his struggling National Liberal party. And in 2005-06, several nominations for life peerages were rejected by the House of Lords Appointments Commission after it emerged the individuals had loaned large sums to the ruling Labour party – money Labour was forced to return.
Honours get thrown around like confetti, with shady businesspeople and failed politicians often benefiting from the lack of regulation. If you’re a much-derided government minister who gets booted up to the Lords or handed a knighthood, it looks like a consolation prize: you had one job to do, you ballsed it up, and now you’re a laughing stock. Being awarded the prefix Sir or Dame seems designed to help you overcome the fact that your abject failure diminished you.
Gongs shouldn’t be something you can buy, or receive after making a massive hash of something, or secure by running a sustained campaign over many years. They should be given, as they’re meant to be, in recognition of going above and beyond – in a particular field, in a community or for the country. So why are there companies offering services to help individuals maximise their chances of securing an award? And why are some recipients so questionable – such as ‘entrepreneurs’ who bung a few quid to a political party? It makes the whole thing look tawdry.
Given how dubious the system now is, one wonders why you’d even want one. Sir G.V. has a nice ring to it, admittedly. And if I were given a peerage, I’d get to wear fancy dress, wang on about stuff while my fellow peers politely listened, cop a daily attendance allowance of £371 and enjoy the Lords’ subsidised bars and restaurants. I could even impress my mates by inviting them in as guests.
Honours get thrown around like confetti, with shady businesspeople and failed politicians often benefiting from the lack of regulation
Or would it be better to join an even more elite club by turning an honour down? The painter L.S. Lowry rejected at least five offers, including a knighthood, a CBE and an OBE. Rudyard Kipling declined two knighthoods and an Order of Merit. John Lennon returned his MBE in protest at Britain’s role in the Nigeria-Biafra and Vietnam wars. Had he lived and later been offered a knighthood, would the title have made any difference? He was already one half of the greatest songwriting duo in pop music history. Becoming Sir John Lennon would have looked like he’d literally – and metaphorically – bent the knee to the establishment.
Former Post Office sub-postmaster Alan Bates – who campaigned tirelessly to secure justice for fellow victims of the Horizon IT scandal – turned down an OBE because, at that point, ex-CEO Paula Vennells still held her CBE. After an ITV drama brought renewed attention to the case, he was offered and accepted a knighthood. As richly as he deserved it, something was unsettling about one arm of the state trashing his life and another trying to atone, belatedly, by pinning a medal on him: ‘Sorry we ruined your life – here’s a knighthood.’
This isn’t a modern dilemma, of course. Philosophers have wrestled with what honour really means for centuries. In The Consolation of Philosophy, Roman senator Boethius argues that honours are fleeting, do not inherently confer virtue and can expose the wicked to greater contempt. True honour, he says, is a reward of virtue that cannot be taken away by unjust accusations or the whims of fortune, because it resides within the self.
My parents had a neighbour, a stooped, leathery old man who held a Military Cross and, as such, was treated with due deference. He was a hero, as will many on the New Year’s Honours List be in their own ways. And that’s how it should be: the shine of their achievements shouldn’t be dulled by handing out higher awards to the undeserving. It degrades the whole system, bringing it into disrepute.
In the Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle said: ‘Dignity does not consist in possessing honours, but in deserving them.’ Ain’t that the truth.
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