Once upon a time, when sovereigns were (mostly) male, knights had pointy swords and dragons (sadly) refused to exist, parliaments did what they were told.
Occasionally a not-quite-all-powerful king would need something done law-wise (or more likely tax-wise), and would summon his loyal parliament.
Once the chaps (all men of course) had arrived the king would make his plans known.
A postage stamp depicting Henry VIII. Photo: andylid/123RF
‘Here’s the list’, he might say, ‘get it done sharpish, or there’s a nice free Tower room with your name on it’.
Quite a lot has changed since then.
The price of tower rooms has gone through the roof, and knights have rather lost their point. (Oddly, there are still hooks in the House of Lords' cloakroom for the hanging of those pointless swords). Dragons (sadly) still don’t exist.
More importantly, Parliaments are no longer the toadies of sovereigns, but they haven’t entirely outgrown them either. As we’ve seen recently, it is useful to have someone to ease the transition between a nation's executives.
The State Opening of Parliament still has a strong reflection of all that history. Our Head of State (the Governor General standing in for The Queen of New Zealand), still summons the MPs and delivers an agenda for Parliament. She just doesn’t get to decide what it is.
Wellington's Glorious Spring. Huzzah! Photo: RNZ / Richard Tindiller
There’s usually a lot of pomp but Wellington’s reliably glorious spring sidelined most of that. Fanfares tend to gurgle somewhat underwater.
That’s Ok, because while the pomp is nice the important bits are actually after that. Two things stand out.
The first is that the Sovereign’s representative does not actually enter the Debating Chamber. No Head of State ever does.
Parliament's Debating Chamber is sacrosanct. A place where MPs are protected from outside pressures and rules. A place where they have asserted their 'priviledge'. It's somewhere they can safely criticise monarchs who have empty tower rooms needing occupants.
The second important thing is the actual speech from the throne. It can be dry and it is always long (pity the Governor General reading it), but it does matter. This is when a newly elected government reveals its plan.
Governor-General Dame Patsy Reddy at the State Opening of Parliament. Photo: RNZ / Benedict Collins
The Speech from the Throne is a government's post-election manifesto, tempered by the necessary compromise of coalitions. This year’s plans may be less hampered.
The Speech from the Throne doesn’t bind the Government. It can still change its mind, but it demonstrates intent.
The speech is also an early Christmas present for Her Majesty’s Loyal Opposition, who will carefully note all of the Government’s hopes, intentions and promises and store them away.
Later when perchance some of those best intentions have turned awry on the brutal rocks of necessity, the opposition will unpack them, polish them up, and wield the sharpest, as weapons against the Government.
