How do you solve the problem of following Henry Hill’s final ToryDiary? You probably can’t (it was a fantastic read). But you can at least pick at a theme he touched on in his piece yesterday: the hollowing out of politics by short-termism, performance and the absence of a governing project. So I’ll give it a go.
Let’s start with a small but telling statistic. In 1938, a speech in Parliament typically ran to almost 1,000 words. As late as 1970, the average was still close to 900. In 2024 it was only 460. One of the most dramatic declines came after 2015 – the year video arrived on Westminster’s favourite app, Twitter (now X). Draw your own conclusions.
The academic evidence is not exhaustive, but what exists points the same way. In the United States, studies of state legislatures suggest that the arrival of television cameras coincided with greater polarisation. In Turkey, when their parliament switched cameras on for certain sittings, MPs behaved differently on broadcast days. It would be peculiar if Westminster – having already shrunk speeches, as per the Economist study – were immune to incentives that operate everywhere else.
The problem today is not just that speeches are shorter in the Commons. It is that they are trending to be thinner, unquestioning, uncurious and unreflective. A changed audience on social media (one for clips, a question that may not even contain the answer) has changed the output (designed with that target in mind rather than engaging with a person or policy area).
We have seen what a tendency to these qualities does in government. Labour has been providing a clear example of what it is like when you are unable to articulate a clear mission or purpose – having been uncurious and unreflective – drifting in intention and chucking legislation in the bin as it goes. Is it any wonder we saw Sir Keir Starmer’s 14th U-turn at the beginning of the week restoring local elections and are now potentially looking at his 15th at the end of the week with Chagos?
But this is a wider problem, affecting more than just those in No.10. That temptation for ease and short-termism, without taking the time to think, build and reflect, is something that has seeped into our politics. It has actually become inbuilt, with structural incentives for this decline, which brings me to a controversial opinion: the cameras in Parliament should go.
Hansard is essential. Audio recording is fine. Photographers should remain. But the live video feed, paired with social media, has transformed the Commons into a personal broadcast studio. Interventions are less calibrated for the colleague opposite than they are for the constituency Facebook page. There is a lack of engagement and persuasion in the chamber than there is video harvesting.
It leads to ‘debates’ on contentious issues where there have been, in truth, almost no debate at all. One after another, MPs asking almost exactly the same question that you know is for their social media accounts – no engagement with the previous speaker, no attempt to grapple with the counter-argument. Barely anyone listening. The chamber half-empty, those present glued to their phones, perhaps watching their previous efforts that have just been posted on X. It can be a depressing watch, to see distraction overtake discussion.
“Think in ink” was the phrase that Michael Gove claims to have lived by in government. The idea that by writing a speech down, it forces you to be logical; makes you assess exactly what you are about to say and the beliefs behind it. In essence, not directing yourself for a quick social media hit.
There is an awful lot going on in this country that requires that kind of real reflection, and we are not getting it. Henry’s point was that without a proper governing project there is nothing to counteract the pull to that easy, short-term decision – and he is right.
I would say the Tories have recently benefited from the beginning of their rethink or ‘renewal’ as Badenoch would put it; actually taking some time to work out their own thesis and drawing some sensible policy interventions from it. MPs more generally would benefit from doing the same, but we could help them by removing the reward for a quick hit over a considered argument, and getting rid of the temptation to perform for the camera.
Removing cameras would not magically restore golden-age oratory, where MPs didn’t read from notes, let alone their phone or iPad. But it might change the incentive. If an MP knew their words would be heard, transcribed and reported – but not instantly packaged for personal distribution – they might speak differently, listen differently, even prepare, reflect and think differently.
It might make the Commons a place for thoughtful, logical contributions, rather than clickable ones.