and finally...
Politicians must be spiky or spiked
Calm in the Commons makes poor news, says Chris Proctor N
otebook-bearers from the nationals file into the Churchill dining room at the end of the corridor as you leave
the Strangers’ Bar in the Commons. It’s lunchtime and everyone’s in search of a bite; some are after food as well. The occasion is one of the regular lunches organised by the Parliamentary Press Gallery. It always features a talk by some Westminster personage. “Who’s the speaker?” I ask. “The speaker.” “Yes, who’s the speaker?.” “Yes, he’s the speaker.” It seems the speaker’s the speaker.
Lindsay Hoyle by name. I’ve often thought it’s an unusual moniker for a lad who went to school in Bolton. Maybe I’m more sensitive about these things than most. I remember the sweaty-palmed nights before a new school term started in Liverpool, knowing the next day I’d have to own up to 35 junior hooligans that my middle name is ‘Heffernan’. The speaker had different problems, he tells us. His election as MP for Chorley in 1997 coincided with the arrival of a number of women MPs the press decided to dub ‘Blair’s babes’. This soubriquet is a terrible embarrassment to our profession but it was particularly galling for Lindsay, who discovered himself numbered among the group. They had assumed ‘Lindsay’ to be a girl’s name. So did Emily’s List and various Labour women groups, who contacted him to ask if he’d care to affiliate. His half-hour address was disappointingly decent. He said he wanted to be fair and impartial while
hoping he could be chums with everyone. To general irritation, he appeared to be a thoroughly decent bloke. Rumblings of discontent were more evident than sounds of scribbling. I mean, no one minds politicians being seemly in the privacy of their own homes but they have some sort of duty to the media. ‘Nice bloke wants to be pleasant’ isn’t going to make anyone popular with the news desk. Someone asked about breastfeeding in the Chamber and hopes rose for at least the suggestion of bigotry or prudishness. No, Lindsay said, he didn’t mind. He didn’t think it should be mandatory but, apart from that, was relaxed about the issue. ‘Relaxed’ is not how the lobby likes to see its politicians. It prefers them aggressive, assertive or plain mad. It likes them newsworthy. Hoyle was not helping. By some process undiscerned by
observers, the lobby decided to operate the ‘extract quote’ manoeuvre. A cherubic figure put up his hand nicely. (Readers will understand that the
term ‘cherubic’ when applied to parliamentary reporters deviates widely from its use in an ecclesiastical context. In Westminster, it is best defined as ‘non-demonic’). Waxing innocence and integrity, the seraph enquired: ‘Will you be taking measures against bullying, Mr Speaker?’ The room was filled with the sound
of clicking biros and opening notepads, or at least the rapid production of pencils and smoothing of paper napkins. A pin dropping on the five-ply carpet would not have passed unheard. The speaker was being herded into the pen.
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The one answer he cannot come up
with is: ‘No.’ Quite frankly, no one in their right mind – and I exclude the US president here – is going to stand up in front of a swarm of scribblers and say: ‘No, I’m not bothered about bullying.’ He looks quite surprised that anyone could ask him this. “Look,” he says, peering down at us from his trim and gangling height, sincerity seeping from every sinew, “I want everyone in this village to feel safe and happy at their work.” Under his stewardship, bullying would not be tolerated. “The bullying culture is over,” he said. All hell let loose. “So, you are admitting that bullying
has been rampant?” “What I was saying…” “If you’re saying you’re going to
stamp it out…” “I think I said …” “… it’s got to exist or you wouldn’t
No one minds politicians being seemly in the privacy of their own homes but they have some sort of duty to the media
want to take measures against it.” By coincidence, David Leakey, the former Black Rod who the previous day had submitted damning allegations about Hoyle’s predecessor John Bercow, happened to be at the lunch and, surprisingly, was to be found standing at the doorway, available for comment. No one bothers with dessert (there
wasn’t one) and scribes jostle to be first on line with the story: that “Lindsay Hoyle declares end to Bercow era as he vows to stamp out bullying in Parliament” (Express), or “New Commons speaker has declared Parliament’s bullying culture over, in a veiled swipe at his predecessor” (Independent). Smiles are exchanged all round. ‘Very useful lunch,’ it is agreed. “Who are we having for dinner?”
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