One aspect that consistently bothers progressive individuals in Britain is the possibility that Americans may view TV series like Downton Abbey as somewhat of a documentary, leading to the misconception that the United Kingdom is still a society entrenched in class divisions and hierarchical social structures. Liberal Britons know that this view is unfair and untrue, with one exception: the British honors system, which grants medals and titles to its citizens. This exception, rooted in ancient privilege, has caused significant trouble for the British government and its relatively new prime minister, Rishi Sunak. The situation is both amusing and slightly embarrassing.
Almost every country has its own honors system, as public virtue rarely goes unrewarded. Around 2,000 individuals in Britain receive some level of honor each year (Italy and France distribute even more). Like many of the nation’s invented traditions, the British honors system only dates back to the early 20th century. During this tumultuous period, marked by the rise of organized labor, Irish demands for Home Rule, and the suffragette movement, the ruling class had to find creative ways of solidifying the people’s loyalty to the state. Thus, the Order of the British Empire was established in 1917 as a means of recognizing noncombat services rendered by the king’s subjects during the Great War. Setting aside its imperial associations, this award is relatively harmless. Honorees have the thrilling opportunity to visit a royal palace and receive their medal directly from the monarch or a member of the Royal Family. They also gain prestige through the use of their title in formal settings, and suddenly find restaurants accommodating their reservations. Photographs of the awardee taken with royalty become prized possessions, and even traditionally rebellious actors may find themselves embracing royalist sentiments overnight.
Interestingly, the honors system is surprisingly democratic, at least no less so than being a member of a Rotary Club, for example. Anyone can nominate a candidate, including themselves. The nominations are then collected, categorized, and reviewed by civil servants who compile shortlists for various committees comprised of prominent figures from relevant areas of public life, such as science and technology, culture and the arts, and the charity sector. While the vetting process is undoubtedly thorough and sincere, some degree of possibly envious cynicism sometimes arises, jokingly referring to an OBE being awarded for “Other Buggers’ Efforts.” I recently encountered a female member of the House of Lords who received an out-of-the-blue email from someone seeking an honor and asking for her reference. Perturbed, she responded, “But I’ve never heard of you.” The individual simply replied, “That’s alright, let’s have lunch and get to know each other.”
The issue with the honors system does not lie with OBEs or even more prestigious knighthoods. Although knighthoods may not seem consistent with a democracy’s aim to promote inclusivity and multiculturalism, in recent years, I’ve witnessed two of my friends, one black and one gay, receive knighthoods. Both expressed a hint of embarrassment, which was balanced by the pleasure their elderly relatives took in the honors.
The problem resides in peerages. Being ennobled and becoming a member of the House of Lords is both an honorary distinction and an appointment to the United Kingdom’s legislature. Lords and ladies not only gain priority restaurant reservations but also partake in the deliberations of the Palace of Westminster, wielding considerable political influence. Unlike the Lords, the U.S. Senate is an elected body, while in the U.K., only about 90 hereditary peers from uncompleted reforms during the Tony Blair era remain, along with two dozen Church of England bishops, including the archbishop of Canterbury. Hereditary peerages are rarely conferred, with almost 40 years having passed since the creation of the previous three. However, non-heritable life peerages are granted regularly, providing significant powers of patronage to those who nominate individuals for the House of Lords. Similar to members of the U.S. Supreme Court, peers hold their positions for life.
Lordships are typically bestowed twice a year, during the New Year’s honors list and the monarch’s birthday honors list. In practice, the prime minister compiles a list of individuals to be ennobled, which also includes nominees from the opposition parties and recommendations from the civil service. An independent committee ensures the nominees’ suitability. Additionally, a dissolution list is created following a general election to recognize retiring politicians who might still be useful. Lastly, outgoing prime ministers have the ability to submit a list, which often appears as a means of rewarding close allies and comrades.
This brings us to Boris Johnson, who, even before he resigned as prime minister, caused chaos by elevating entirely unsuitable individuals to the Lords through his honors lists. In 2020, against the advice of the MI5 security service, Johnson controversially ennobled Evgeny Lebedev, the son of a Russian oligarch and former KGB officer who owns a newspaper. Some critics suspected that Lebedev’s support for Johnson during his time as mayor of London, as well as his hospitality in Italy, played a role in the decision. Unlike his predecessors Blair and Brown, Johnson submitted an honors list upon leaving office, nominating at least 16 individuals for peerages. Among them were young and underqualified former aides, several embroiled in the “Partygate” scandals during the pandemic, which eroded public trust in Johnson. Four of these nominees were sitting Conservative MPs loyal to Johnson.
The immediate issue with this last group, aside from concerns about cronyism, was the political implications: accepting peerages would require these parliamentarians to resign their seats in the House of Commons, potentially triggering special elections that Sunak’s government, already grappling with the aftermath of Johnson’s and Liz Truss’s tenure, could easily lose. One of these MPs was Nadine Dorries, a Liverpool-born, combative politician from a working-class background. Dorries, an unconventional member of the Tory party, positioned firmly on the right, had been passed over for government roles for 14 years after her first election in 2005. It was only in 2019 that she was appointed as a junior health minister by Johnson, whom she had supported in the party leadership race that year. Before her political career, she garnered attention for appearing on a reality TV show set in an Australian jungle, where she consumed memorable delicacies such as a camel’s toe and an ostrich’s anus. She subsequently translated her celebrity status into a series of popular novels set in 1950s Liverpool. By the time of Johnson’s downfall, Dorries had risen to the rank of culture minister.
When Johnson nominated Dorries for a peerage, her name, however, did not appear on the final list. “I was born…”
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