MUSICAL CHAIRS

PICTURE the scene: groups of TRNC party leaders huddle in separate parliamentary corners. The general election had left North Cyprus with no party having a clear majority to form a government. It might be interparty back-scratching time again, but up to last weekend, not even that had produced a new prime minister either. There was only one option: “Get out the chairs, folks, and turn on the music. When it stops, the one grabbing the last remaining chair will be prime minister! Everybody clear? Right, off we go.”

You think I’m joking, don’t you? Only slightly. I might be guilty of a little exaggeration in describing recent behind-closeddoors parliamentary antics in such a fashion, but that’s all. Such an imagined scene more than reflects the shambolic chaos of the last few TRNC weeks.

By the time you read this, we will know what sort of rickety “coalition” government has been formed. God knows how. For a country of about 350,000 souls (that’s only about twice the size of St Albans), the TRNC has more political parties and wannabe prime ministers (and presidents) than Glastonbury has rock bands. Both rock groups and politicians make a lot of noise, but politics relies less on harmony (if you get my meaning).

You see, up until the middle of the week, the potential for a successful parliamentary alliance was not looking good. There were six parties in contention for ministerial posts of some kind, but only two likely combinations of party groupings had any chance of providing a new prime minister with the slimmest of majorities. The reason is three parties were willing to talk to each other, but refused to talk to two others, whilst the two others were not willing to talk to them either, but both possible coalition groups needed to talk to a sixth party, who appeared to be willing to talk to anybody who’d have them. (Are you following this? No, neither am I.)

You would have thought that things were complicated enough, now wouldn’t you? Afraid not. We still had the joys of the “swearing in” ceremony for the 50 elected MPs to come. As it turned out, the ceremony reportedly couldn’t have been more aptly named. Harmonious, it was not.

Rival parties walked out on each other, one MP threw a screwed up newspaper at another, and “protesters” disrupted proceedings in the public gallery. One “feminist” MP was “booed and jeered” as she took the oath. The National Unity Party (UBP), Democrat Party (DP) and Rebirth Party (YDP) all walked out on her, while the sight of the UBP leader taking his oath was enough to spark a walk-out by CTP and TDP MPs. It must have been difficult to work out who was up and who was down and even harder to understand what for. Apart from flying newspapers, harsh words and MPs indignantly bouncing up and down in their seats at the slightest provocation, everything was hunky dory. Just what you need to bring folk together and form a coalition, now, isn’t it? Funnily enough, in TRNC, it probably is. Fear not.

Now the curtain has finally fallen on all these parliamentary theatrics, a prime minister has indeed emerged, different parties have got their hands on various ministries and everything is probably carrying on much as before. Now the music has stopped and all but one chair has been taken away, we must hope it all works. Surely it’s just someone else’s turn to ride in the big ministerial limo — that’s all, isn’t it?

If only it were as simple as that. The largest party in Parliament with 21 seats (UBP, which was in government in coalition with DP before the election) is now in opposition, despite winning way more seats than anybody else. DP (with the princely total of three seats) decided to abandon their former UBP partners and go into coalition with an already-shaky left-wing alliance of three other parties with whom they have as much in common as the Wicked Witch of the West had with the Fairy Godmother.

So, the new government is comprised of (are you still following this?) CTP (12 seats), HP (nine), DP (three) and TDP (three) giving the new prime minister a parliamentary majority of just two. Good luck, mate.

So, let me see if I’ve got this right. The party with the most seats lost and the one with just three decided who the government should be? I see. If this intriguing selection procedure isn’t best described as “musical chairs” then I don’t know what is. How long before the music starts again?