They’re just people, after all

Last week I wrote about the first 100 days of Sir Kier Starmer’s government, comparing them rather unfavourably, I suppose, with the energy that surrounded those of Tony Blair, in 1997.

So much has changed since then, and perhaps one aspect that stands out is the way in which politicians are esteemed, or otherwise, by the general public. Nowadays, they are held in such contempt, and regarded with such cynical suspicion, that it sometimes seems as if they have no room for manoeuvre.

They certainly enjoy none of the goodwill and benefit of the doubt that we take for granted out in the ‘real world,’ and the result is that pretty much everything they do is dismissed out of hand, with the assumption that are only in it for themselves.

(In case you are thinking that this is a particularly British malaise, it is an attitude that has pervaded public discourse in every country in Europe, as far as I can tell. In France, politicians are seen in an even worse light than they are here, if that is possible.)

Let us not pretend for one minute, however, that all members of parliament were held in high regard in Tony Blair’s time. They weren’t, but the particularly vicious ire of nowadays was reserved only for those who had transgressed standards of decency or who otherwise appeared to ‘deserve it,’ by whatever measures were in vogue at the time.

Individual politicians could be widely respected, admired even, by people of all stripes and allegiances, and could be seen as decent. It was recognised that some were drawn to politics for high-minded, noble reasons, and that standing for parliament was to engage in an act of service to the county and its people.

Those ideas might seem quaint, or even laughable, to some today.

But I don’t subscribe to that view, or believe that politicians are somehow degraded compared to previous generations. In some ways, a person who puts themselves forward as a candidate for public office has to be more dedicated and committed now than they needed to be in the past, given how badly they will be treated by the very public they wish to serve.

I was reminded of this by a recent article in The Times by Adam Hart, son of Simon Hart, a former chief whip and Conservative MP, who lost his seat in the last election.

When he was young, Hart the younger was proud that his father had a job in which his teachers and fellow pupils were interested, although the comments became a little more serious as he got older and the austerity measures the Tory government at the time introduced began to bite.

Hart writes that the “enormous change” as he grew into maturity was, however, the widespread adoption of technology and social media.

“When Dad was first elected, I didn’t have a phone,” he says. “Only about 25 per cent of the population did. To hear what people thought of him I would have to go to his constituency office and open the post, which was then a method of contacting your MP as much as an email.”

But by the mid-2010s everything was online. “At first, reading through the comments section on Dad’s Facebook page was funny,” he said. “Insults were usually light-hearted. ‘As an MP, you bat at 8 and don’t bowl,’ was a favourite of mine.”

However, “it didn’t last,” Hart continues. “Comments became personal, nasty. ‘I’m going to run you over and then reverse,’ was one. Although shielded from my sister and me at the time, threatening ‘I know where you live’ messages arrived in Dad’s inbox amid the usual sweary, barely literate abuse.”

This vitriol spilled out from the virtual and into the real world. Hart writes that, when he was at university, he and his housemates were watching the news, when his father appeared onscreen to defend the latest official line of Boris Johnson’s government.

“One of my lovely housemates, who refused to have our rat problem dealt with lethally as it was unfair on the rats, unleashed a barrage of insults at the TV screen as Dad spoke. I watched, heart rate quickening, as he railed, ‘How the f*** can he say this? What a c***. F***ing Tory wanker with no idea what he’s talking about…’”

Another time, Hart was at a party and a female friend revealed she had crush on someone.

He writes: “‘You can’t get with him,’ cried another friend. ‘He’s a Tory! He works for the Tory party.’ The group muttered disapprovingly. The girl looked somewhat disappointed but bowed to the pressure and ceased talking to him.”

“For the rest of the night one member of the group threw bottle caps at the boy, and the pressure not to be seen with him was tangible. His crime? Working for a legitimate, democratically elected, mainstream political party. Would I be treated the same way if they knew who my dad was?”

And so it went on, and on, and on. Anyone who has followed politics over the past few years has seen how the level of abuse has escalated in recent years to a horrifying extent, with inboxes filled with lurid and obscene messages threatening all sorts of sexual violence on female politicians, while their male counterparts do not fare much better.

Even in daily life, I have heard apparently perfectly reasonable people talk about politicians in a shocking manner.

It would be too straightforward and simplistic to say that the tenor of public discourse was soured by the relentless hounding of politicians by the tabloid press, as politicians have not had an easy ride ever since newspapers were invented.

Indeed, criticism in the press is fair comment. I applaud, for example, The Telegraph’s obsession with holding the new government to account, even if they occasionally display a rather amusing degree of double standards in comparison to their treatment of their old columnist, Boris Johnson.

However, the cynicism and demeaning attitude on the part of the tabloids reached a kind of fever pitch in the 1990s, when journalists and private detective working for them thought nothing of rummaging through people’s bins, tapping phones and illegally accessing voicemail messages, with politicians, celebrities and anyone in the public eye targeted mercilessly for anything that might make good copy.

I personally think that that attitude soured the way in which people, particularly politicians, were regarded, and validated the idea of discussing public figures in a disproportionally harsh manner, an effect that was then turbo-charged by the emergence of social media.

Hiding behind the cloak of anonymity, people treat public figures as little more than scum and insult them viciously, to the extent that they have been utterly dehumanised in standard everyday discourse.

It frankly amazes me how people think it is fine nowadays to talk about politicians who happen to be members of a party that they do not support as if they are as bad, if not worse, than Nazi guards at a concentration camp. The venom is only slightly less than that reserved for sex offenders.

It is wrong, and inexcusable, to talk like that about an elected official doing a job of service to the country and people they represent. People become MPs for all sorts of reasons, some good, some altruistic, some noble; some self-serving, some selfish, and some downright wrong. But you can say that about all walks of life, including doctors.

I fear, however, that now Pandora’s box has been prised open, the ill winds can never be put back; unless we should all turn away from social media, or if the people that use it, and the platforms that publish their words, are held responsible.