The Archbishop of Canterbury's criticism of the current Government has drawn some fairly predictable reactions. The very people who were cock-a-hoop over praise from a bunch of right wing overseas economists earlier in the week suddenly filled the television studios with their strangely puce faces, growling that a religious leader (and Parliamentarian) should not have the temerity to voice an opinion. The award for Biggest Charlie of the Day went to Ian Duncan Smith, who seemed to be implying that the Archbishop's criticisms of his welfare policies were unfair because he had spent a long time on them. As with Andrew Lansley's NHS reforms, it is fair to say that Mr Duncan Smith is meticulous in taking a long time to get things badly wrong.
Who politicians listen to and who they ignore will always be a bone of contention. After all, most Governments since the war have been accused of not listening to the people, and many of those who preceded them probably only got away with it only because society was more deferential. There's no doubt that Governments do conveniently ignore the will of the majority in certain cases, and there are times that we should say thank you for that. If this wasn't the case, we would probably rival Iran for our policies towards crime and punishment, while the various wars we would have started would have had Tony Blair producing a dossier a week.
The nature of democracy in this country is such that we elect people under one guise, then expect them to behave in a completely different way once they enter Parliament. Come election time, we want to hear about policies. "What can you do for me?" is a familiar refrain on the doorstep. Our candidates are then expected to put ideas forward and be judged on them via the ballot box. Once we've elected someone, though, the nature of the relationship changes. We no longer expect them to carry out the ideas they put forward, but to vote on issues in the way we want. We want to elect ideas people, then turn them into directed delegates.
One of the reasons I voted against AV was the idea that politicians should try to appeal to the broadest number of people as possible. A political culture that fosters this would lead only to blandness and a lack of principle. The best example of this in the current Parliament is Norman Lamb, bag carrier for Nick Clegg and a man completely devoid of any political ideals. Within the last fourteen months, Lamb has achieved a feat of political gymnastics previously unsurpassed. He has both opposed tuition fees and supported their trebling. He has promised to protect front line policing and also been instrumental in introducing 20% cuts. He has promised to create jobs and helped preside over a large leap in unemployment. All of this, however, pales into insignificance when one considers his somersaults on the NHS. When he was trying to get elected, he wanted to defend the NHS. When it was expedient for him, he supported Andrew Lansley's reforms. Now his Leader's Leader has announced a change of mind, Lamb wholeheartedly supports it. His appearance on Newsnight attempting to defend the position was squirm worthy tv of a kind not seen since Basil Fawlty's heyday. When a politician behaves in this manner, people lose faith. The kind of spineless display we see from Lamb and his ilk on a regular basis turns people off politics and brings the whole business into disrepute.
I have worked for and with various politicians and can vouch for the difficulty of mailbag management. In any given week, people will expect the elected member to take two completely different positions on any given issue. The politician who is permanently reactive would have to echo these sentiments expressed by Sir Humphrey Appleby in Yes Minister:
Sir Humphrey: Bernard, I have served eleven governments in the past thirty years. If I had believed in all their policies, I would have been passionately committed to keeping out of the Common Market, and passionately committed to going into it. I would have been utterly convinced of the rightness of nationalising steel. And of denationalising it and renationalising it. On capital punishment, I'd have been a fervent retentionist and an ardent abolitionist. I would've been a Keynesian and a Friedmanite, a grammar school preserver and destroyer, a nationalisation freak and a privatisation maniac; but above all, I would have been a stark, staring, raving schizophrenic. (From The Whisky Priest by Anthony Jay and Jonathan Lynn, December 1982).
Perhaps Kipling's 'If' needs updating (poorly) for the current political climate:
"If you can listen to Archbishops and the IMF
And be a little bit more gracious when hearing both
You might be listened to a bit more often
And not be laughed at for squealing like babies when you're criticised"
Criticism will come and criticism will go. Politicians should not get over excited by it. When opposition is overwhelming (Poll tax for Thatcher, ID cards for Blair, NHS reforms for Cameron) there is a case for dropping a policy. Being directed by the morning's headlines, though, merely produces a mess.
Who politicians listen to and who they ignore will always be a bone of contention. After all, most Governments since the war have been accused of not listening to the people, and many of those who preceded them probably only got away with it only because society was more deferential. There's no doubt that Governments do conveniently ignore the will of the majority in certain cases, and there are times that we should say thank you for that. If this wasn't the case, we would probably rival Iran for our policies towards crime and punishment, while the various wars we would have started would have had Tony Blair producing a dossier a week.
The nature of democracy in this country is such that we elect people under one guise, then expect them to behave in a completely different way once they enter Parliament. Come election time, we want to hear about policies. "What can you do for me?" is a familiar refrain on the doorstep. Our candidates are then expected to put ideas forward and be judged on them via the ballot box. Once we've elected someone, though, the nature of the relationship changes. We no longer expect them to carry out the ideas they put forward, but to vote on issues in the way we want. We want to elect ideas people, then turn them into directed delegates.
One of the reasons I voted against AV was the idea that politicians should try to appeal to the broadest number of people as possible. A political culture that fosters this would lead only to blandness and a lack of principle. The best example of this in the current Parliament is Norman Lamb, bag carrier for Nick Clegg and a man completely devoid of any political ideals. Within the last fourteen months, Lamb has achieved a feat of political gymnastics previously unsurpassed. He has both opposed tuition fees and supported their trebling. He has promised to protect front line policing and also been instrumental in introducing 20% cuts. He has promised to create jobs and helped preside over a large leap in unemployment. All of this, however, pales into insignificance when one considers his somersaults on the NHS. When he was trying to get elected, he wanted to defend the NHS. When it was expedient for him, he supported Andrew Lansley's reforms. Now his Leader's Leader has announced a change of mind, Lamb wholeheartedly supports it. His appearance on Newsnight attempting to defend the position was squirm worthy tv of a kind not seen since Basil Fawlty's heyday. When a politician behaves in this manner, people lose faith. The kind of spineless display we see from Lamb and his ilk on a regular basis turns people off politics and brings the whole business into disrepute.
I have worked for and with various politicians and can vouch for the difficulty of mailbag management. In any given week, people will expect the elected member to take two completely different positions on any given issue. The politician who is permanently reactive would have to echo these sentiments expressed by Sir Humphrey Appleby in Yes Minister:
Sir Humphrey: Bernard, I have served eleven governments in the past thirty years. If I had believed in all their policies, I would have been passionately committed to keeping out of the Common Market, and passionately committed to going into it. I would have been utterly convinced of the rightness of nationalising steel. And of denationalising it and renationalising it. On capital punishment, I'd have been a fervent retentionist and an ardent abolitionist. I would've been a Keynesian and a Friedmanite, a grammar school preserver and destroyer, a nationalisation freak and a privatisation maniac; but above all, I would have been a stark, staring, raving schizophrenic. (From The Whisky Priest by Anthony Jay and Jonathan Lynn, December 1982).
Perhaps Kipling's 'If' needs updating (poorly) for the current political climate:
"If you can listen to Archbishops and the IMF
And be a little bit more gracious when hearing both
You might be listened to a bit more often
And not be laughed at for squealing like babies when you're criticised"
Criticism will come and criticism will go. Politicians should not get over excited by it. When opposition is overwhelming (Poll tax for Thatcher, ID cards for Blair, NHS reforms for Cameron) there is a case for dropping a policy. Being directed by the morning's headlines, though, merely produces a mess.
No comments:
Post a Comment