Category: British

Do MPs Need Multiple Jobs?

It’s a question that has been raised time and time again. Is a Member of Parliament’s job a full-time job? What I mean is should an elected parliamentarian have more than one job? Do they need it?

Say, a journalist, presenter, documentary maker, official of a political party or union, company director or even a doctor.

There’s a repetitious ding-dong argument that goes on along the lines of – look at this example of great achievement and they were both occupied doing numerous jobs at the same time. Equally there’s the argument – look at this talented person who crashed and burned as a result over commitment and lack of attention to detail. Case by case examples can be found.

Sadly, a case built on individual examples of achievement, or the reverse doesn’t move things forward much. It’s a sort of selective sampling to prove a point. Fame and notoriety play a part too. When a hero, genius, guru or an influencer complex exists rules get bent. Mythical qualities can be ascribed to the subject of attention.

It’s true that some individuals have a capacity for work that goes way beyond the norm. An intellect that shines bright. A refreshing originality or perspective that changes the game.

Now, I’m a down-to-earth straightforward liberal. It’s does matter if you are a King or a Queen, an Olympic athlete or a massive titan of industry or a brilliant orator we are basically all the same. We see the sun rise and we see it set (weather dependent). We walk the same Earth. We are as likely to experience mental or physical challenges in life as any other human.

Back to my question. Is a Member of Parliament’s job a full-time job?

I’d start with the ways and means MPs get elected. It’s rare, if ever, that an individual is so well known that they step into a parliamentary seat with no affiliation, preparation, finance or support. Those people who provide such essential back-up have expectations. Expectations that the candidate, if elected, will dedicate their full-time efforts to their new role when in office. Not too much to ask, methinks.

Given that you and I have finite time and energy, playing multiple roles inevitably dilutes the time and energy available for any one role. Super humans haven’t been invented – yet. Whatever the myths. If a British MPs job is genuinely full-time then where does the extra time and energy come from to do another job?

By saying that an MPs job is not full-time, hasn’t the local electorate been sold a pup. I’m sure that when votes are cast in each constituency an expectation is set-up that a candidate will do a decent job if elected. A moral commitment is made as good as any binding contract.

I agree, that polarising this argument to the extreme isn’t helpful. MPs must manage their time and energy between home and work as most people do. I guess, what’s important is the prioritising of parliamentary duties to the degree they deserve. In other words not taking on equally demanding jobs at the same time.

Some of the cynicism towards British politics, that exists today, stems from MPs abusing their duty by prioritising income and / or notoriety in some other public facing role. Making being a Westminster MP merely a way of achieving other personal goals.

It’s not easy to make hard and fast rules for the above situations. A moral imperative should prevail. Sadly, it doesn’t aways go that way.

Desperate Politics

I’ll be generous and say that I don’t think Jenrick knows what he is doing. I’m taking about the Conservative British politician Robert Jenrick[1] who is, or has been by the time this gets out, the Shadow Lord Chancellor. Desperately ambitious politicians do all sorts of foolish things to get a headline. With the Conservatives in the doldrums the word desperate is truly applicable.

When looking at his published CV it’s reasonable to think that he might know something, at least the basics. At least some history. Yes, he’s just another well to do lawyer with an Oxbridge education but that’s so typical of Conservative British politicians. At least, he had some kind of working life before taking on parliamentary politics. Today, in Westminster he’s still a Johnny-come-lately having been first elected as a Member of Parliament in 2014.

Jenrick embraced social media to the extent that the right-wing of politics see him as a sort of top-ranking pinstriped influencer. Even if his amateur video antics look like an humourless Benny Hill dressed in a business suit and tie.

Today, he’s crossed a line. Stirring up hate at a time when problems need solutions not mindless rhetoric, is despicable. To say that “British women and girls[2]” are unsafe because of small boats is offensive propaganda designed to drive political debate into ever more nasty territory.

Yes, we have been here before in Britain. Conservative politician, Enoch Powell’s fiery “rivers of blood[3]” speech did a lot of harm, but it got him in the text books. Some do believe that the heart of the Conservative Party is English Nationalism. Wrapped up in the red and white flag of St George as an exclusive club of aggressive narrow-minded men and their followers.

I’ll be generous and say that’s not the conventional Conservative Party. At times of its greatest success, and let’s face it, that political party has been highly successful in winning elections, it’s been a broad church. A diverse party that has encompassed a wide range from woolly liberals to traditional imperialists.

If Jenrick thinks that jumping on bandwagons and stirring up hatred is the way to go he’s foolish. We are not in the 1930s, or even the 1960s, this is a new age and a challenging one at that. Social media was supposed to be a great educator and liberator. In some ways it is but within its walls are pits of despair and stinking wells of polarisation and Xenophobia.

Addressing the public disillusionment that exists by pointing the finger at one group or other as being the root of all our problems is totally mindless. It only seeks to elevate the profile of minor demigods and snake oil salesman (conmen).

Inflammatory speeches get headlines; there’s no doubt about that sad fact. For a moment eyes turn to the speaker, but history turns away from them. In comparison with the 21st century challenges the country faces the so called “small boats” are a small one. Real solutions to real problems are needed not hideous grandstanding.

POST: Xenophobia is the fear or dislike of anything that is perceived as being foreign or strange

[1] https://www.gov.uk/government/people/robert-jenrick

[2][2] https://www.gbnews.com/news/robert-jenrick-britains-women-girls-endangered-migrant-crisis

[3] https://www.theguardian.com/world/2018/apr/14/enoch-powell-rivers-blood-legacy-wolverhampton

Lowering the Voting Age

The line-up of predicable grumpiness is no more than might be expected. For once the UK’s Government has decided to bite the bullet and make a long overdue change. It’s time to bring the voting age down to 16-years old. This is a policy that has long been advocated by Liberal Democrats. Wisely so. Like it or not, we have a stubborn geriocracy in Britan. Political influence is top heavy. An agenda dominated by issues toping the polls with older voters.

Yes, we did see changes, a year ago with the last General Election. More younger candidates winning. However, the average age of a Member of Parliament[1] floats around 50-years. This average age hasn’t changed much over decades.

Studies on what motivates candidates to stand for election often point to community engagement and activism being part of their lives. It’s only when, in mid-life, opportunities present themselves and support can be marshalled that they stand for election.

And the retirement community of the House of Lords is solely built on the notion that age brings wisdom. Sadly, so often this does not ring true. Ten minutes watching the Parliamentary channel is a good way to see a range of speakers from erudite to senile. From expert to confused. From informed to delusionary. On occasion a few sleeping on the comfortable red leather benches.

When the elderly hold so much political power it’s difficult enough to get 18-year-olds to take an interest in voting. This is not an argument for the status-quo. Far from it.

Those in the age group 16 to 18 years are interested in society and the direction it’s taking. Youth activism hasn’t entirely perished in the world of tick-boxing education. Loading students up with enormous loans, with learning establishments seeing them as revenue generators, and deaf ears to their concerns has done a lot to supress youth engagement in elections.

There’s a lot to be said for “no taxation without representation”. Young people do work. They do pay taxes. They should have a stake in how those taxes are spent.

What’s not to be presumed is that a new youth vote will automatically lean to the left of politics. It’s easy to make that sloppy assumption. It may arise because the prominent youth activist who get media exposure are those campaigning on environmental and social issues. That does not say much about the majority who may choose to go to a polling station.

I think the larger number of young voters, despite the media stereotypes, will likely vote the way of their parents and friends. Having been nurtured in a particular way this is not so surprising. The lazy stereotypes of riotous youths biting the hand that feeds them is only true of a few, it’s not the majority. It’s belonging to dusty Woodstock documentaries.

It’s for the political parties to up their game and campaign with young people in mind. Even with the best of efforts election turn-out is still likely to be low. At least the message is that the next generation matter. If these modest changes are blocked because older people fear the next generation that is a very sad reflection of our society. Surely, it’s better to have younger people invested in their communities. 

[1] https://www.parliament.uk/about/faqs/house-of-commons-faqs/members-faq-page2/

The Greasy Pole

I think we should be indebted to the writers of “Yes Minister.” And the brilliance of Paul Eddington, Nigel Hawthorne, and Derek Fowlds[1]. No mobile phones, lap-tops or tablets, wood panelled offices, a Minister with all the backbone of a jellyfish and the cunning and mountainous pomposity of Oxbridge’s best.

It’s the ultimate lesson for aspiring British politicians. Fresh faced, with ambition and desire to make a difference they are confronted with the custom and practice of centuries. A bureaucratic minefield that tops anything Brussels can produce.

At first, it’s easy to see Jim Hacker as naive to the point of merely being indulged by the civil service. He learns fast, as a good parliamentarian should always do. Fun being seeing him turn the tables on the Whitehall establishment. Often at the expense of hysterically awkward moments and sporadic cynical manoeuvrings.

Last night, I watched “The greasy pole”[2]. Without a doubt this episode remains 100% relevant. It first went out in 1981. The story’s themes are universal.

A proposed industrial development offers secure jobs and potential prosperity. It comes with a hitch. Activism and noisy protests aimed against the project. Industry and the civil service want the factory to get built. The Right Honourable James Hacker sits on the fence. Blows hot and cold but realises that his political career pivots around sinking the project. The Minister wins out in the end much to the discomfort of the department officials.

It would be easy to write the entire plot in terms of 2025’s political difficulties. This morning’s News ran a story that wasn’t so far off the plot of “The greasy pole.”

A new Labour government minister tells of publishing a report that favours a point of view he wishes to get across. He continually mentions the name of the author of the report. Mimicking Jim Hacker as he makes sure everyone knows the report’s author, just in case he’s made a mistake.

Although, with the complete ridiculousness of the past British Conservative governments it may have been said that satire is dead. No, it certainly isn’t. Here it was playing out on the BBC on my kitchen radio at breakfast time.

This is the stubborn reality. In Britain we have a new absurdly named political party called “Reform.” They are flying high in the opinion polls because some people think the word has a political meaning. However, if these would be politicians were to gain a position of power, would they conduct long-needed reforms? Well, given the competence of the people involved and given the historic clashes between elected officials and civil servants the answer is most certainly – no.

It seems to me that new Labour government ministers are slowly getting the hang of the job. One year in they are still a bit wet behind the ears. Gradually, they are climbing the greasy pole. At any moment, because of the nature of the job, down they can come, and they know it.

[1] https://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episodes/b006xtc3/yes-minister

[2] https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0751819/

Cynicism to Appreciation

A couple of things came together this week. I had the pleasure of enjoying 35 degrees in Brussels. The joy of the odious metro, the brutalist main station and the wandering herds of tourists. Overhead one couple saying do you know that they have a statue of a little boy having a wee. I flinched because I genuinely thought everyone in the world knew of the Manneken Pis[1]. How can anyone not know?

It was a Canadian who prompted me to undo a prejudice of mine. Loving the air conditioning in the hotel, I looked to my iPad for late evening entertainment. There was the man – Clarkson. Irritating prankster and motorhead. Not known for meaningful commentary. I’d resisted watching his series Clarkson’s Farm[2] on the basis that I’d want to throw bricks at the screen.

This week I watched the first series. Made pre-COVID. Fine, it’s not a serious documentary about the trials and tribulations of British farming in the 21st century. True to form it’s pure entertainment. Edited highlights of comic moments and true to form tomfoolery.

My mind is changed. I started as a cynic. Here’s a moneymaking scheme for a wealthy landowner who made riches in the television world. To here’s a have a go spirit let loose on what people often assume is easy but, in fact, is mighty hard to do. The series is an engaging journey of discovery all but made for the small screen.

How can you not make a profit out of a highly desirable spread of a thousand acres in some of the most beautiful countryside in Britain? Experience counts and when you have none, it counts even more. Watching the lights come on in Clarkson’s head is well worth a watch.

Farming with drone shots and a camera crew following is obviously not the real world. Nicely edited highlights tell the story on the page. Put aside any cynicism. The show has a way of story telling that brings out the awkward, funny and frustrating reality of farming. Folly, errors and mishaps are all part of what happens in that colourful industry.

There was a world pre-COVID. Going back even further, there was a world before the fireworks of the year 2000. It was summed up by the brothers Gallagher. Yes, I am talking about the getting back together of Oasis. A band that was a bit more than an everyday rock band.

Having survived watching last week’s televising of the one millionth Glastonbury festival (exaggeration), the memories of the “real” contrast with the artificial, bland and merely controversial for the sake of it. Those years in the mid-1990s were good ones, if only I’m using the trick of selective memory. Remember when people who supported leaving Europe were strange and social media was only a rare tacky e-mail.

Maybe I’m getting more Clarkson-like as time flies.

[1] https://www.introducingbrussels.com/manneken-pis

[2] https://www.imdb.com/title/tt10558964/

The Intriguing Life of Jackdaws

As the grass turns brown, the sun beats down. Me, I just a lawnmower[1]. Now, that’s probably the daftest lyric that has ever been written in the history of rock. As I look out of the window at the parched grass there’s no way I’d take my lawnmower to it. If I did there would be nothing, but dirt left in its wake. Stubborn deep-rooted weeds and dead moss.

It’s summer. It’s unusually dry. Although, as the sun came up this morning, looking out of the bedroom window, a thin mist covered the ground. That was early. Between 4am and 5am. A thin white mist, low to the ground, must refresh the grass just a little. Most of nature sleeps.

As the morning progresses its not long before one dominant sound fills the air. It’s not the cars on the nearby road. One species of bird has adopted the tall trees, field next door and my garden. They are not a quite bird. To those that know their call is instantly recognisable. Their sound isn’t musical like some birds. It’s an incessant chatter. Loud and repetitious.

Jackdaws are having no trouble despite the dying grass and rock-hard ground. Our community of noisy birds is thriving. I guess their advantage is that they eat just about anything that’s going. Not much concern about predators as they take no care to hide their presence. I’ve seen them happily mocking larger birds. Showing off seems to make them happy.

As far as evolution goes, they have a lot of advantages. Equally agile hopping around on the ground as they are swooping and diving from tall trees. There’s no doubt they have a complex social etiquette. One or two minutes watching how they interact gives this away. Bigger, more mature, birds intimidate the younger ones.

Can’t say I like them much. More that I admire them for being so savvy. Jackdaws look as if they own the place. It’s not my garden. They are saying, we come a go as we please, you can share the space if you like. Sooty black masters of the airspace.

We’ll tolerate each other mainly because we have no other choice. Trying to scare a jackdaw is a fruitless task. They learn quickly. Soon sussing out that they can get the better of you.

As the sun beats down, I lay on my lounger. Listening to the endless chatter. Me, I’m just a bird feeder. Watching as the skies fill with shiny black dots. There for moment and gone the next.

[1] https://genius.com/Genesis-i-know-what-i-like-in-your-wardrobe-lyrics

Shiny silver

Daily writing prompt
If you were forced to wear one outfit over and over again, what would it be?
View all responses

If I remember righty, it’s a Seinfeld routine: in the future everyone will be wearing the same outfit. That shiny silver clothing so beloved of pulp fiction comics and SiFi series. Alien races will only ever see humans as being wrapped in tight body suites.

Except for the static burns occurring when brushing swiftly across a nylon carpet, I’d go for the crew of Alpha. That’s Space 1999[1] for those who missed the plywood sets of 1980’s TV. They seemed to have a dress code that made best use of their limited resources on the Moon.

A light grey Commander John Koenig outfit would be future proof.

[1] https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0072564/

F2F with a machine

Daily writing prompt
Describe one of your favorite moments.
View all responses

Coming face to face with a Cyberman. It’s walking towards me. The crowd is clearing. I’m directly in its path. It’s got an evil stare. A dramatic sound fills the air. I don’t want to be converted into a mindless machine. Help!

Hang on. I’m standing on the floor of the Royal Albert Hall in London. It’s full to the brim with excited people. It’s hot. It’s August. How did this happen to me?

To make sense of this I can see an orchestra on stage pounding out a science fiction theme. Yes, I’m at the Doctor Who BBC Prom[1] a year ago. That was fun moment. Quite a few in fact.

[1] https://www.bbc.co.uk/events/e5drn3

Challenges to Liberty

We live in interesting times. Conflict and turbulence, shifting political loyalties, and rapid technology advances. What a mix.

I don’t want to say – twas ever so. That’s a resignation. To say that challenges and tragedies are of exceptional magnitude in any one era. Since forecasting is such a fragile art, better or worse maybe just around the corner.

What’s unique is our societal expectations. Whereas a serf in a feudal country had little hope of a better life. Today, our higher expectations come from generations of struggle having improved the circumstance of the individual and our communities. Improvements in standards of living, economic, social, environmental, are maintained by an adherence to the “rule of law”. However, imperfect that might be.

The basic stuff still matters. English liberties, in great part, stem from the Magna Carta of 1215[1]. It may have not been immediately successful, as Monarchs and Popes quickly tried to kill it. What’s amazing is that its core content has echoed down the centuries.

Democratic societies have taken on rights, human rights, in their simplest essence. Each of us expects a day in court. A means to defend ourselves from the exercise of arbitrary power.

Yes, for hundreds of years English Monarchs continued to assert what they claimed to be God given powers. Until that came to a head. Literally so. The English Civil War set the rights of the citizen against the arbitrary power of a King.

Where I am now there are signs of that past conflict. In fact, I can see one of from my kitchen window. Surrounded by trees, on the brow of a hill, overlooking a fast-flowing river, is the remains of a castle. Most of Donnington Castle[2] was destroyed but the gate house tower remains. The winning side, Parliament ordered its destruction.

You can understand why I get nervous when politicians assert that they are on a mission from God. Centuries of conflict have bought a citizen’s protections from arbitrary power. To see it return under the guise of personal ambition and careless action is sad.

Yes, there are lots of undemocratic places in the world where this does not apply. Even so, with all its imperfections, English liberty did spread far and wide. It made its way across the Atlantic Ocean. Constitutional practices maybe different but common law prevails.

I hope democratic societies will emerge stronger from this turbulent period. Shifting sand is everywhere. Values are being assailed. Nevertheless, there’s every good reason to believe that a strengthening of our society is possible. A progressive vision offers so much more than a backside into a dark past.

[1] https://www.magnacartatrust.org/

[2] https://www.battlefieldstrust.com/resource-centre/battleview.asp?BattleFieldId=89

Evolution Politics

Wake up John. The herald of today was there in the late 1990s. There was me fascinated by the possibilities of the INTERNET. Buzzing modem squeaking down a phone line. With such peculiarities as Y2K behind us the new century provided broadband access to everyone. Almost everyone. Eventually, being off grid became a sales tag for remote rural settings.

Meanwhile, good old-fashioned popular entertainment media was desperately trying to make itself relevant to the new era. Proliferation of reruns were not enough. Stale formats dwindled. In that maelstrom, reality television was born. Technology shaped what became possible. It was a horror to me but then again, I was just out of touch.

Big Brother is a strange beast. Watching joe average or minor celebrities make complete fools of themselves for big bucks – how could that work? It did, bigtime. Undeniably scoring with the public. It spawned lots of similar shows bombarding us with unscripted chat seen through the tight lens of an edited television show.

Not quite like throwing Christians to the lions, familiar to Romans, but a social experiment open to participants combative as much as caring behaviour. Watching relatable and unrelatable volunteers try their best to seem nice or nasty as they thought appealing.

25-years on, now British politics begins to resemble reality television. That creation provided a pathway through our screens to capture our attention. To make names out of relatively unknowns. Or to revive careers waning.

I said “begins to resemble” without realising that I’m being a dinosaur. It’s here. A politician can’t anymore stand on a soap box and pontificate about the world. The grand ark of a well written speech is destined for the dustbin. Every presentation needs to be framed as if they are in the jungle (I’m a Celebrity…Get Me Out of Here![1]).

Reality shows are becoming a training ground for political personalities. Forget the serious need to do an apprenticeship. That one has been hijacked too. The basic grind of administration and casework can be bypassed if the candidate is a good enough showman or woman.

Going back to the 1990s, I think a lot of us were naive about the coming technologies. There was an imagining of the information superhighway[2] as a great educator. A positive liberator. A forum for better communication. Making it easier for people to have a real dialogue with the elected officials. Thus, solving problems, cutting down bureaucracy and engaging communities.  

Of course it is those things. The naivety came with the blindness to the huge entertainment possibilities. How reality and make-believe can get intermingled. How dominant personalities would capture the cameras like Hollywood stars.

With that fuzziness between reality and make-believe storytelling takes on a new importance. That’s what political managers have discovered in abundance. Medium and message have always been closely linked. Now, a would-be star or demigod must take that ever more seriously to win.

[1] https://www.itv.com/imacelebrity

[2] https://www.bbc.co.uk/videos/czv20818q2no