The Curious Case of Britain’s Fear of Being Ruled by Itself by Lawson Akhigbe

Newcastle sends a Member of Parliament to Westminster.

Aberdeen sends a Member of Parliament to Westminster.

So does Birmingham, Bristol, Bolton, and Basingstoke. In fact, all 650 constituencies of the United Kingdom do exactly the same thing. This is called representative democracy, a system so basic that even Westminster interns understand it before their first lukewarm coffee.

Westminster, for the avoidance of doubt, is not a floating spaceship hovering over England, staffed by Martians with funny accents. It is simply the physical location where the MPs we elected gather to argue, legislate, and occasionally pretend to read briefing papers. Laws are passed by a simple majority. The principle is elementary: the majority gets its way; the minority gets a microphone and a strongly worded press release.

And yet—miraculously—no one in Scotland storms the streets screaming that Westminster is “imposing laws” on them because Yorkshire voted differently. No Welsh uprising is triggered by a close vote on fisheries. No Cornish rebellion breaks out because Newcastle fancied a different tax policy. Everyone understands the deal. You win some, you lose some, and then you complain in the pub.

Then Britain joined the European Economic Community, later the European Union—a club designed to pool sovereignty in order to gain influence, prosperity, and stability. A bit like Westminster, but with croissants and more simultaneous translation headsets. The UK joined not because of a sudden love for Brussels bureaucracy, but because of geography, economics, and the minor detail that Europe is where Britain physically lives.

For decades, the system worked. Britain helped write the rules. British MEPs voted on laws. British ministers sat at the top table. British judges interpreted EU law. In short, Britain was not being “ruled by Europe”; it was co-managing Europe. This subtlety, however, proved too complicated for certain newspaper headlines.

Enter the foreign-owned mass media, stage right, waving a foghorn of outrage. Suddenly, Britain was being “bossed around,” “dictated to,” and “oppressed” by a system that looked suspiciously like Westminster with better catering. Stories were whipped up, facts were gently massaged into fiction, and sovereignty was treated as if it were a houseplant Brussels had stolen from the British windowsill.

By the time of the referendum, opinion polls revealed that many voters chose to leave because they felt a “lack of control.” This is rather like setting fire to your car because you don’t like traffic lights. Britain wasn’t losing control; it was exercising it—badly advised, loudly misinformed, and enthusiastically manipulated.

And so the country cut off its nose to spite its face, then blamed the mirror. Trade became harder, borders became messier, influence evaporated, and the very politicians who led the charge mysteriously disappeared into consultancy roles. Shame, shame indeed.

The real lesson isn’t about Europe. It’s about propaganda. When a country allows professional outrage merchants to steer national direction, democracy becomes a magic trick: lots of waving hands, very little substance, and the audience applauds while their wallet disappears.

Britain didn’t lose control in Europe. It lost perspective at home.