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The still, quiet voice of conscience

by Simon Longstaff

Members of the Federal Parliament are currently engaging in a marathon debate about legislation that will allow the use of 'surplus embryos', created as part of the process of in-vitro fertilisation (IVF), as a source of stem cells for research.

The issue of embryonic stem cell research raises a number of old and thorny questions about the ethical status of the human embryo – from the point of conception through to the birth of a child. Given the significance of such questions and the fundamental importance of the answers to which they give rise, it is unsurprising that the major political parties have allowed their parliamentary members a 'conscience vote' – a vote that can be made free from direction by the party 'whip' and where dissent from the majority of one's colleagues attracts no penalty.

Traditionally, 'conscience votes' have been allowed whenever contentious issues, touching on the sanctity of life, have arisen for debate. For example, legislation relating to matters such as abortion, the death penalty and so on are considered to be clear examples of policy arenas in which the consciences of elected representatives, should be given free rein.

This is all well and good. However, it is difficult to avoid wondering why there has to be a special class of 'conscience votes' in the first place. After all, what are all of the other votes that take place on the floors of our nation's parliaments? Are we being asked to accept that Members of Parliament may be asked routinely to vote against the dictates of their well-informed consciences? The answer to this question is a plain and simple, "yes". However, the explanation for this state of affairs is as complex as the foundations of our political system and culture.

All that is needed for a democracy to exist is that the constitutional arrangements recognise that the ultimate source of authority is derived from the people – or more precisely, the 'governed". So, there are many models of governance that could, in principle, be justified as examples of democracy. However, I want to mention just three.

The first model of democracy has the people directly involved in each and every decision – voting en masse on questions of public policy in a series of referenda. Participatory democracy, of this kind, requires citizens to take up direct responsibility for deciding the policies and practices of their state.

The second model requires decision-making power to be placed into the hands of elected delegates who vote in the legislature according to the instructions issued to them by their electors.

The third model is that of 'representative' democracy – in which electors send their representatives to the legislature on the understanding that they will exercise their best judgement on matters that come before them for deliberation. Australia has theoretically embraced this third type of democracy – opting to elect representatives with a degree of wisdom and experience presumed to be sufficient for the task of discerning what is, on balance, for the public good.

The theory of 'representative' democracy therefore requires elected representatives to vote on issues in a way that conforms with their judgement – even if this is at odds with what most people in the electorate (or the nation at large) happen to want from time-to-time. If people are unhappy about the judgements made by their representatives – then they can turf them out at the next election. An example of how the judgement of elected representatives can be at odds with 'what most people want' can be seen in the way parliaments repealed the death penalty in all parts of Australia – even at a time when a majority of citizens probably supported its retention. In that matter, as in others, citizens were prepared to accept the leadership shown by their elected representatives.

Australia's system of democracy is based on the basic premise that elected representatives will vote on each and every matter as they see fit – always bearing in mind the fundamental obligation to promote the public ‘good’ (whatever that may happen to be). It is against this background that the idea of a special class of 'conscience votes' is troubling. Should not every vote be a conscience vote? Of course the theory of representative democracy doesn't take account of the practical reality of political parties and in particular, the party 'whip' (doesn't the name say it all!).

Political parties are part of the reality of Australian politics. At least one party, the Australian Democrats, say that they allow their elected Members of Parliament to speak and vote according to their conscience on all matters. However, recent controversy, arising from the fact that some Senators acted in ways that were found to be against 'party policy', would seem to have put the Democrats' claim into doubt. In fact, the reality would seem to be that all of the major Australian political parties expect their elected members to tow the line – with punishment meted out to those who do not.

Those who support the system of party discipline offer various arguments in defence of the status quo. The most obvious of these is an appeal to the values of 'stability' and 'predictability". It is argued that a party without the benefit of the 'whip' will be unable to develop and advance a clearly defined program of legislation – and that this would be to the detriment of the country as a whole.

The trouble with this response is that it is not at all clear that stability can only be achieved through the application of the party whip. Other democracies seem to fare quite well without this aspect of the Australian system – not least the United States Congress. If there are alternative means for developing an acceptable level of stability (without the affront to conscience), then why not use them in preference to the 'whip'?

Supporters of the current system also point out that vigorous debate is allowed within the private confines of the party room – with every member given a chance to have their say in advance of a binding vote being cast. There is the problem of matters of public interest being decided in private.

However, more troubling still is the way in which the argument about party room debates fails to take into account the role of factions in predetermining the outcome of any matter. In some parties (probably in both of the largest parties) the faction system can operate to deliver effective control of the party room with a minority of the votes. Let's suppose that there are one hundred members in the party room and only two factions – one with forty-nine votes and the other with fifty-one. Applying the 'whip' could ensure effective control of the party room with just twenty-six votes in the dominant faction – with party discipline doing the rest of the work to keep the other seventy-four people in line in order to vote on the floor of the parliament en bloc.

A number of sitting Members of Parliament (perhaps a majority) may have no trouble with the current system. It is quite possible that they feel the whip only lightly – towing the party line because it is always in alignment with what their conscience dictates. However, I would be very surprised to find that there are not a significant number of people who betray their fundamental beliefs from time-to-time. Fearing the consequences of 'ratting', they bite their lips and bide their time in the hope that they may, one day, have the opportunity to do some good.

Of course, it could be argued that the system works well enough. But at what cost to the integrity of our democracy and, in particular, to that of our Members of Parliament. Are we so sure that voting according to conscience on all matters before parliament would cause chaos? Are the bonds of philosophical affiliation that tie people to a particular party so weak? Why shouldn't we expect people with a common ideological perspective to vote more often together than apart? After all, the fate of a government does not hang in the balance when people cross the floor on general questions of policy reflected in legislation. Solidarity is only critical during formal votes of confidence in the government of the day.

Representative democracy requires citizens who achieve elected office to act with moral courage on a broad range of issues where we, the electors, rely on the quality of their character and judgement. It seems odd that we accept institutional arrangements that place politicians in a position where they are expected, at least from time-to-time, to betray their sense of what is right and good.

No person should lightly set aside the demands of conscience in order to achieve popularity, wealth, fame or to satisfy the demands of the powerful. Nor should we ask them to do so in the name of a political stability that could probably be achieved using other means not tried in this country, by the major parties, for more than a century.

Human beings are diminished whenever we ignore the still, quiet voice of conscience. We are wounded by such decisions – and until the scar tissue hardens our souls, we know it.

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