Labour’s media leaking is corroding parliamentary standards

If Labour doesn’t respect the rules of Parliament, including secrecy, why should anyone else, asks Eliot Wilson

The Victorian journalist Walter Bagehot, who wrote The English Constitution in 1865-67, drew a critical distinction between the parts of our constitutional arrangements which were “dignified” and those that were “efficient”. The monarchy and the House of Lords fell into the first category, while the second included the executive and the House of Commons. The dignified parts might be rich in ceremonial grandeur; but the efficient parts actually operated the machinery of state.

Last week’s Budget Day demonstrated that it is rapidly moving from efficient to dignified. We dwell heavily on the lore: the photo opportunity for the Chancellor and Treasury ministers outside 11 Downing Street, at which he holds up the ministerial red box containing his speech; the fact he can enjoy an alcoholic drink at the despatch box (though none has for 30 years); the quasi-religious secrecy surrounding the whole process.

That last part, the secrecy, is now a joke. It represents a serious challenge to the way we do politics.

This year, like last year and the year before, the measures contained in the Budget were meticulously and comprehensively briefed to the media in the days running up to Budget Day. Five days in advance, Politico was confidently analysing what Labour Chancellor of the Exchequer John Healey would announce, and some of the information was explicitly attributed to “current… government officials”.

In 2025, the government dropped any pretence of propriety. The Chancellor, Rachel Reeves, gave a “scene setter” speech three weeks in advance of the Budget, while HM Treasury published a press release three days beforehand which – bizarrely – announced changes to the state pension which were “expected” to be made, but included verbatim quotes from Reeves.

The rules governing this are not ambiguous. The Ministerial Code, which sets out the standards expected of ministers and which was updated only a year ago, states the general principle: “When Parliament is in session, the most important announcements of government policy should be made in the first instance in Parliament.”

In addition, a Resolution of the House of Commons of 19 March 1997 required that “Ministers should be as open as possible with Parliament”.

We still talk gravely about the importance of secrecy. In November 1947, on his way into the House of Commons at around 3.15pm to deliver the Budget, the Chancellor, Hugh Dalton, stopped; rarely able to resist an indiscretion, he took John Carvel of The London Star to one side and gave him a few details of what he was about to say. Dalton rose to begin his Financial Statement at 3.32 pm, within about 20 minutes of the conversation. But details were in late editions of the Star on sale by 3.45 pm, while the Chancellor was still on his feet.

The premature disclosure had no financial effects, but Dalton apologised to the House the following afternoon for his “grave indiscretion”. Following a meeting with the Prime Minister, Clement Attlee, that evening, both accepted that the Chancellor had to resign. A principle had been breached: the contents of the Budget had to be presented to the House of Commons before anyone else. There could be no exceptions. 

Today Dalton would be a woeful underachiever.

This is not just an issue of going against some arbitrary words in the Ministerial Code. There are many reasons why ministers should make announcements to Parliament before anywhere else. As a matter of principle, the House of Commons is, as Enoch Powell described it, “the personification of the people of Britain” and, as it has sole control over taxation and expenditure, it must be informed of changes to those areas before anyone else.

The consequences of leaking

There is also a practical political point. If the government, for media management reasons, reveals major parts of the Budget in statements or speeches outside Parliament, it avoids proper scrutiny: no demands for more detail, no exposure of flawed assumptions or unintended consequences. Ministers are evading or deferring questions from elected Members of Parliament.

More broadly, leaking, whether deliberately by the government or on a freelance basis by ministers and others, is corrosive to Whitehall’s decision-making process. It eats away at trust. Ministers and officials will hold back and self-censor if they fear every word could be on social media within an hour. Under the last government, Cabinet became a cipher, irrelevant to policy and execution, because some ministers were so leaky that discussions appeared in the media virtually in real time. It pushed serious debate and decision-making elsewhere.

In the end, high-handed media briefing by the government damages Parliament, not an institution with much reputational resilience at present. Sir Keir Starmer clearly found the House of Commons a frustrating impertinence, setting the tone for his Labour administration. Andy Burnham’s accession has yet to move the needle.

Of course previous Conservative governments have behaved shoddily towards Parliament too. But now it seems deliberate policy to fall short of the bare minimum required. Ministers consistently make major announcements without informing the House first and sit mutely while the Speaker – rightly – admonishes them. More than half of all MPs were elected in 2024 or since, and many of them are eager to be anywhere except the Commons and to do anything but their jobs as legislators.

If Parliament has a poor reputation, if it is seen as weak and malleable, there is one guaranteed winner – the government. In theory, Parliament is supreme: the Budget embodies the fact that the government cannot spend a sou, cannot access its bank account without the consent of Parliament. But all of that is a nullity if Parliament looks the other way.

Parliament is not perfect, but it is the best check on the government and the best voice of the nation we have. It has been doing that for 750 years, and the most entrenched sceptic would feel its sudden absence. It should be taken seriously, but if the government tries to ignore it at every turn and MPs don’t want to be there, what is a jaded and exhausted electorate supposed to think?

Eliot Wilson is a writer and historian. He is a senior fellow for national security at the Coalition for Global Prosperity and a contributing editor at Defence on the Brink