Violence must not derail democracy
The shocking murder of Sir David Amess robs us of an MP who was everything best about British democracy – a man who understood his job and did it exceptionally well. First elected to Basildon in 1983, before redrawn boundaries saw him move to Southend West, constituents have spoken of a man who never said no to an engagement, who represented all with equal passion, and who took every opportunity to promote his seat. He put his independence of mind before ministerial advancement – and was one of the heroes of Brexit, fighting for the Eurosceptic cause long before it went mainstream. More recently, he took a common-sense approach to Covid, speaking up for civil liberties.
Sir David showed that one can be principled yet generous. Indeed the word that stands out in most people’s account of him is “kind”, and it has come from both sides of the House.
Whatever the motives of this particular crime, MPs have responded with an understandable mix of fear and frustration – the latter directed at the general context in which they have to operate, an atmosphere of poisonous dispute. British politics has always been contentious, with sporadic threats of violence. Many readers will remember the horrors of the IRA, which put Downing Street behind gates, creating a wall of separation between executive and voters that has never been lifted.
Such things were largely confined to the extremes, however, whereas in recent years there has been a dangerous confusion of the political and personal – the belief that because an MP does something one disagrees with, they must be thoroughly wicked. There is the occasional bad apple in politics who has to be called out, and most politicians thrive on a bit of back-and-forth (Margaret Thatcher, Sir David’s hero, noted that when critics turn personal, they’ve usually lost the intellectual argument). Even so, hate will dissuade many charitable people from entering politics – and the murder of two MPs in five years while meeting constituents is a shock to our entire system, proof that certain changes are now required.
The constituency surgery took off in the years after the Great War, reflecting the expansion of the franchise and a new kind of representative politics. The homes of Labour MPs elected to deprived areas attracted crowds asking for help on everything from poor relief to family breakdown, drunkenness, even medical complaints. As class politics tore up the old Liberal v Tory paradigm, and electoral margins narrowed, candidates had to offer more of themselves to voters to win, raising expectations of what they could deliver.
Harold Macmillan, representing industrial Stockton-on-Tees, wrote in his memoirs that men would turn up to his surgery in the hope that he might help them find a job. As the welfare state expanded, it was the MP who assisted voters with accessing their rights, and the very word “surgery” implies that the MP does for the voter what a GP does for their patient. They are of course not social workers, and voters often bring them complaints they can do nothing about. But the very process of listening to these problems is essential to being a representative. How can an MP take up a cause with conviction unless they understand the emotions behind it?
Members of Parliament take incredible risks to help others, from running for office, which often entails giving up on a better paid career, to enduring attacks on social media. Hitherto they have been remarkably physically exposed. Parliament is more conscious of its security following the 2017 Westminster attack, but while even supermarkets now have security guards, MPs’ surgeries generally do not – and the range of those granted security details is narrow. Nigel Farage, a central political figure of the last decade, says that the Home Office turned down his request for help and his sponsors had to pay for bodyguards instead or he “would have been assaulted every day”.
There will rightly now be calls to protect MPs better: if so, it should not be to stymie them from doing their job but rather to facilitate it. In the aftermath of the killing of Jo Cox in 2016, Sir David observed that the increase in security measures had made it harder to maintain the British tradition of MPs meeting their constituents. One senses that a kind man so concerned for the well-being of others would want to see his colleagues in Parliament safe, yet a man so concerned for the maintenance of democracy would also not want to see its great work impeded. If politics withdraws entirely behind glass, that would be a victory for those who hate it – extremists who thrive in an atmosphere of fear and intimidation.
The murder of two MPs in five years while meeting constituents is proof that changes are required
If politics withdraws entirely behind glass, that would be a victory for those who hate it