Bercow's self-denial

In an interview today with the Independent, John Bercow, Speaker of the House of Commons, made clear his distaste for Prime Minister’s Questions, the weekly Wednesday political punch-up. Bercow says that he worries for the reputation of the House, because “what tends to be seen and heard is a large number of colleagues making an enormous amount of noise.” But the comment that has attracted most attention has been Bercow’s observation that: “There are people who think culturally the atmosphere is very male, very testosterone-fuelled and, in the worst cases, of yobbery and public school twittishness”.

Bercow has a point. To be in the chamber during PMQs is to witness some extremely degrading behaviour. Labour MPs now emit a constant drone of shouting whenever the Prime Minister is on his feet, and Conservative MPs do the shame to Ed Miliband. Whenever the debate—such as it is—turns to the economy, the Government benches strike up with a chorus of “Balls!” which they shout very loudly at the Leader of the Opposition and which is only excusable in that it happens to be the Shadow Chancellor’s surname. It is all deeply unappealing. No other job would permit behaviour like this.

As for Bercow’s suggestion that PMQs is especially unattractive to women, there may be some truth in this. I would qualify that comment by saying that the spectacle is just so overpoweringly unattractive that I should think most men find the thing just as rebarbative.

A deeply unpleasant egotistical morass of catcalling and idiocy it may be—but PMQs does have merit. For many people, it is the only part of the political process that they see. Select Committees, readings of bills, Lords Committees, departmental questions—it is rare for any of these to win a slot on the News at Ten. But PMQs does. It allows mass access to the turbulent air of politics. The childish rumpus may be unseemly, but it does make for good television.

Another positive consequence is that it puts the Prime Minister on the spot. Speeches and press conferences—on the rare occasion when he has them—are very controlled events. PMQs has about it a sense of wildness, of loss of control, which allows the electorate to see the Prime Minister and Leader of the Opposition stretched all over the place. As one government MP said to me, the great thing about PMQs is that it forces Cameron to take an interest in subject matter that he would otherwise ignore. The process makes the Prime Minister more engaged in the details of his own brief.

So far, so balanced. But really, what is at issue here? The Speaker has long made it clear in calling order at PMQs that he does not like the excessive shouting, that he worries how the public views the sessions. He has had no hesitation in bellowing at MPs whom he thinks overstep the mark to: “get a hold of yourself man!”

Bercow has been trying to smooth PMQs’ rough edges for some time. But really, should politics be smooth? Should it be polite and orderly? Complaining about the combative behaviour of politicians overlooks the essential tribal impulse that animates all political activity and which causes people to join opposing sides that are in a constant state of trying to destroy one another. PMQs is nothing more than an expression of this tribal impulse and for Bercow—a career politician—to deplore it, is to deny his own profession.

The real value of PMQs is not that it shows politics in action, but that it lets the public see the politicians in their unmasked state. The greatest value of PMQs resides in its very lack of order, because in all the confusion and noise the people who would run the country will sometimes give themselves away.

As such, PMQs stands as the truest expression of the character of British politics. The value of that cannot be overstated.