Parliament

In the summer of 1774, large numbers of American colonists, from Massachusetts Bay down to the Virginia Tidewater, were disaffected and angry. For a decade, they had felt increasingly oppressed by Great Britain, ever since London had imposed duties on various exports to America to help pay for the costs of the victorious Seven Years’ War.  The Stamp Act of 1765 and the 1767 the Townshend Acts, which added duties on lead, glass, tea and other items, became hated symbols of imperial power. The colonists considered the duties to be taxes levied by Parliament, and while they acknowledged Britain’s right to regulate trade, they balked at the presumption by British lawmakers to directly tax them.

“In order to make our country successful, safe, and glorious again, I will probably have to do it again,” said former president Donald J. Trump at a rally in Texas last Saturday. It was yet another hint that he will seek the presidency in 2024. Over the weekend, British politics simultaneously fluttered at the possibility that former prime minister Boris Johnson might return to office following the resignation of his successor Liz Truss. Trump and Johnson share more than a scintilla of similarity. Large and blond, both men made their way into politics as flippant populist spoilers, antagonizing establishment critics while inspiring outsiders who felt excluded from elite decision making.

Liz Truss has resigned after only forty-five days in office, the shortest serving prime minister in British history. She's long come off as a stubborn and prideful figure, stuffed with confidence even if she doesn't express it well. It must have taken a momentous behind-the-scenes rebellion to convince her to go — and surely that's what happened. The past couple of weeks in British politics have been nothing short of mesmerizing. We Americans now understand how the rest of the world must have felt gawking at us for five years.

Liz Truss faced her first proper grilling at PMQs. Her debut, last month, was a softball affair but today Keir Starmer went in with both fists swinging. He asked her to endorse Jacob Rees-Mogg's view that ‘turmoil in the markets has nothing to do with the Budget’. ‘What we have done,’ said Liz, pleasantly, ‘we have taken decisive action to make sure that people are not facing energy bills of £6,000 for two years.’ Sir Keir, already hopping mad, blasted her for ignoring his specific point. ‘Avoiding the question, ducking responsibility, lost in denial,’ he said viciously. He mentioned a young couple from Wolverhampton, Zac and Rebecca, who last week were offered a mortgage only to learn that it had been withdrawn. Liz was to blame.

That so many people have wanted to say something about how the Queen touched their lives, whether or not they met her, shows quite how powerful her service was. The tributes this afternoon in the House of Commons were moving because they showed the breadth of that service, from the way she carried out her constitutional duties with the government to her personal impact on many members of the House. When parliament pays tribute to someone who has just died, the cloying phrase 'it was the House at its best' quickly emerges. This is self-regarding, because what today's tributes showed was not the best bits of MPs but the best bits of the Queen.

Does Penny Mordaunt know what she's getting herself into? One of her most striking promises is to give MPs something called 'social capital pots’: cash to spend in their constituencies. They are part of her attempt to soothe colleagues by describing them as ‘people who want to serve’ – and to weaken the power of the Treasury. 'I want to give you more agency to serve your community,' she said. While these pots sound unremarkable, Mordaunt would be significantly changing what an MP actually does This is a fascinating idea, and not just because it flatters MPs' egos. It's more than the 'pork barrel politics' some critics have alleged of the idea, because Penny Mordaunt would be significantly changing what an MP actually does.