We live in a (mobile) phoney democracy

Grim times bring grim realisations. And few things are grimmer than Bercow’s Paradox. How is it that John “progressive change-maker” Bercow, the larger-than-life Speaker of the House whose cod-Dickensian diction more calls to mind Partridge than Palmerston, can occasionally, however haphazardly, hit upon something of value? For most of the British electorate, the Speaker’s half-dozen oft-repeated and over-enunciated polysyllables can be met with simple Saxonic monosyllables. But, despite his preening grandstanding – and narcissistic glances around the chamber – lightning struck twice yesterday.

First, Bercow heeded the sage advice from Chris Bryant MP (who differs from the Speaker in genuinely having Erskine May off pat) and dismissed the nonsense of a third Quite Unmeaningful vote. Second, he turned upon his favoured adversary, the Leader of the House, Andrea Leadsom. Why? Well, instead of staring with wide-eyed infatuation at the Speaker’s command of Roget’s Thesaurus, Leadsom had preferred to swipe through her mobile phone. On realising that Pete Wishart’s point of order was not receiving full focus, Bercow bleated his outrage:

I note that as the Right Honourable Gentleman asks his question, and I respond, the Leader of the House is playing with her electronic device… It would seem to me to be helpful if people showed respect for each other in these circumstances, and, if they were in the chamber, listened to what others had to say

Ever unflappable, Leadsom later expressed her own doubt to the Speaker that, in future parliamentary dealings, he himself would be capable of “treating colleagues with courtesy and respect”.

As a mother, one supposes, Leadsom is well placed to appreciate what matters most in the Mother Of All Parliaments. But, though bereft of such instincts, Bercow did apprehend that phone-fiddling has got seriously out of hand in the House. While the schools minister moots a ban on phones in the classroom, MPs busy their own days in the chamber navel-gazing at surreptitiously-placed screens. Even at PMQs, the crucible of cut-and-thrust debate, most find time to fiddle while Brexit burns around them. But is Bercow brave enough to do more? If the move were not certain to alienate 98 per cent of the House, perhaps he would move to ban the things in their entirety.

The matter merits serious consideration. So, to get the ball rolling, let’s remind ourselves of the three major pros and cons of using phones in the Commons:

Pros:

– While sitting on the benches debating the Law of the Land, it’s understandable for parliamentarians to suffer from the Fear Of Missing Out. In fact, it’s a national disgrace that we’re yet to have a cross-party Commons working group on parliamentary FOMO. But, until that emancipatory moment, MPs should have our full sympathy and agreement that it’s better to follow the incessant inanities of Twitter than to partake directly in the pettifoggery of representational democracy. What’s more, it’s a virtuous service to distil the complexities of national debate into a snappy 280-character format.

– Not all MPs are as fortunate as Mr Speaker: enthroned on high, he has at his shoulder all manner of clerks and flunkeys to prompt his sub-elephantine memory about the double-barrelled surname or far-flung constituency of a distant MP in meerkat mode. The man has no need for a phone when surrounded by a living-and-breathing Facebook app. But poor parliamentarians find themselves knee-deep in debate, entirely unaware of the business under discussion. Tactical googling, and copious use of Wikipedia, can at least help resolve some of the more confusing acronyms and bewildering jargon. Without their phones to hand, parliamentary papers would need laborious, and probably tedious, engagement in advance.

– When faced with the unflinching non-sequiturs of Commons blowhards, attention can easily flag. Thankfully, an internet connection can offer all manner of entertainment. Many an MP has been seduced by the appeal of games (e.g. Nigel Mills and Candy Crush Saga), pictures (e.g. Jonathan Djanogly and showgirls and chess) and Instagrammable selfies (e.g. any number of cabinet members). Unless and until we move towards diagnosing and medicating parliamentary ADHD, this seems a healthy and proper use of technology.

Cons:

– The House is often an eerie twilight zone for direct debate. Save for the “doughnut” of good-as-gold MPs who crowd around the principal figures in the discussion, the rest of the House takes on the appearance of teenagers in a bus queue. It’s a sad reality that politicians feel they can better gainsay their fellow MPs online or in the studio than face-to-face at the coalface of democracy. Ah but, the complaint runs, those in the gallery are allowed to use their phones. This remark, I’m afraid, is too thick to merit further comment.

– Phones have opened up a silent means of communication, pinging around the House as it chews over business viva voce. Few things are more pathetic than chief whips coordinating, choreographing and prompting those due to make speeches via WhatsApp chat. A sixth-form, let alone university, debate has greater intellectual candour than this am-dram read-through of a script no-one fully intends or understands.

– A century and more ago, the nation’s newspapers would have given over healthy space to parliamentary reports drawn wholesale and verbatim from the chamber. But the days of Commons debates being consumed in full by a wider public are long gone. Since 1989, cameras have been allowed in the chamber, opening up the closeted mysteries of the House to the wider world. But the last 30 years have not brought a golden age of debate. No-one spares a thought for the Hansard editors who must make something of MPs hastily-composed waffle. Instead, speakers increasingly tailor their speeches to make the news or, ideally, go viral. Whether it be a Jess Phillips wisecrack, a Peter Bone zinger, or a Geoffrey Cox hamfest, the goal is clear: not to advance debate within the House but to gain traction outside it. This isn’t debate. It’s posturing pantomime.

So, here we are. For two generations, Parliament has not had a subject of greater and longer consequence to debate than the question of Brexit. And yet it has never had a parliamentary class less interested in looking up from their ruddy phones, hearing in real time the contributions of their fellow parliamentarians, and wondering what they have to offer worthy of the benches on which they sit.

What can be the way forward? Perhaps, in this febrile atmosphere, the question of using phones in the House requires a restricted “people’s vote”, put to MPs for their honest opinion. Perhaps that referendum result will be touted as binding. And perhaps 52% of the House will decide to vote, against the Speaker’s private desires, to continue using their mobiles. Well, with such a majority, and with Bercow as champion of the people, one can rest assured that democracy would prevail.