Let us assume it was an army—a proper army with its structure, hierarchy, and discipline—even if its uniform were a suit and tie in a palette of colors open to personal taste. What would its ranks be? First, party member—something like a corporal. Then, cadre, candidate, MP, deputy minister, minister, and—who knows?—perhaps one day even prime minister.
Not everyone becomes a general or a lieutenant general. Only one becomes commander-in-chief. But at least deputy ministers? Is it really so difficult to maintain some order, some hierarchy, or at least a rotation that would ensure a dignified parade in the “constituency,” proud among loyal voters—the so-called soldiers of the party?
Such petty career motives are attributed to MPs by those who criticize their intentions. They waited, they say, for years on hold. And now that they realize their phone will never ring to tailor the suit of inauguration into a government post, they revolt. Johnny from East Attica took up arms.
He took up arms and is firing. At whom? At those who are not “one of us.” The bullets are not fired indiscriminately but at non-parliamentary figures who, alas, do not even come from the ranks of the “army” and, worse still, have never signed any “contract with the people” by wearing out their soles in electoral battles. Neither from New Democracy nor elected. Outsiders and appointees.
Parliamentary groups are not armies. Political careers are not linear, and no “executive state,” however strong or efficient it may be, can issue daily operational orders like a General Staff.
In New Democracy, however, the fundamental element that parliamentary parties borrow from military structure in order to remain minimally coordinated is now eroding. Discipline is being lost.
Why? Because the commander-in-chief of the story—the leader of a now irregular party—constructed a hybrid long before unsettling his MPs with the spectacle of “incompatibility.” Kyriakos Mitsotakis had already transformed the parliamentary system with grafts from presidential systems.
This hybrid arrangement of a prime minister who appoints ministers and deputy ministers from the “market,” while simultaneously relying on parliamentary party discipline, has created chaos.
The chaos was not caused by a butterfly fluttering in a constituency, but because the Prime Minister changed the rules of the game, which now clash with each other—not like carts, but like trains. In other words, in a presidential system, loose legislative discipline means little for a president who derives legitimacy directly from the electorate. In a parliamentary system, however, where the prime minister is elected from among MPs, loose discipline amounts to a loss of parliamentary majority.
By drawing the line of “incompatibility” in hybrid form, K. Mitsotakis effectively “freed” his MPs. If we like the law of the non-parliamentary, we vote for it; otherwise, take it back. And since we do not like his instructions and his Excel spreadsheets, we empty our gun on him.
Parliamentary groups are not armies; Parliament is not a barracks. Johnny from East Attica is not yet aiming his weapon at the leader. He is, however, firing in plain sight at the pianist with the spreadsheets in a Wild East-style saloon. Maximos Mansion and the Parliamentary Group have become like two strangers in the same city. The rest, in a sense, have nothing to do but clear the street of stray bullets and watch the duel from their attics.
