‘Sleaze’ is such a nasty word. How much nicer to call it ‘anti-parliamentary activity’
Sometimes, the answer is staring you right in the face. As the Speaker begins to wonder how he can tighten up rules on parliamentary finances without admitting that the day of the Honourable Member is past, the Guardian reports that the Home Office is producing a new phrasebook to advise civil servants how to discuss terrorism inoffensively with Muslims. Here, I suggest, we have a model.
‘Look at this!’ some bright young Commons researcher may be about to say to his MP. ‘I’ve written a phrasebook. It allows people to talk about cleaning up politics without sounding like they are accusing all politicians of being dirty crooks.’ ‘Great work!’ his boss may respond. ‘I suppose you’ll be wanting a bonus. Pop back into the office, when you’ve a minute, and sort it out with your mother.’ Hey, it’s a strategy. Can we not conquer this problem in the tried and tested New Labour fashion — by changing its name? As with the battle against terrorism, there are terms to be adopted, and terms to be phased out. How much we have all learnt in the years since 9/11. Yes, there are some who will still talk of a ‘clash of cultures’, recognising a minority with a mindset verging on the mediaeval that will never properly integrate with a modern, forward-looking British public. Most of us, however, realise how offensive it is to refer to the House of Commons in this way. These days, many of them even have BlackBerries.
So, ‘clash of cultures’ is one to leave out of the phrasebook. Instead, we ought to stress ‘shared values’. For example: MPs want more money, you want more money. There must be others. Anyone?
Certainly there are other forms of aggressive rhetoric, which must likewise be avoided. The Guardian tells us that the Home Office is phasing out the term ‘Islamic Extremists’ in favour of ‘Violent Extremists’, and wants ‘Jihadi Fundamentalists’ to be called ‘Criminal Thugs’. The trick, you will note, is to divorce the offence itself from its most glaring, salient detail. Thus, expect our phrasebook to jettison loaded and pejorative terms such as ‘MPs Who Give Your Hard-Earned Money To Their Own Families’ and ‘Ministers Who Take Vast Donations, Conceal Them, And Profess To Have Forgotten About It’.
Suitable euphemisms will, in time, suggest themselves. Possible candidates already suggested by Messrs Conway and Hain include ‘Administrative Shortcomings’ and ‘Administrative Failings’. These may be a touch soft.
The goal, here, is a whole new worldview. In this, as in so many things, we should take our inspiration from Jacqui Smith. Remember, last month, she subtly rebranded terrorism as ‘anti-Islamic activity’. Similarly, we may expect all forms of sleaze — unregistered donations, underworked family members on the staff, excessive mileage allowances — to be dubbed ‘anti-parliamentary activity’. Innocent MPs will love that. It is distancing by syntax. Self-righteousness by proxy.
Can it work? Has it worked with Muslims? Well no, not really. To the chap in the street, one senses, the suicide bomber remains the über-Muslim. Jacqui Smith wants them to see him as the anti-Muslim. If parliament itself has been damaged by the antics of Derek Conway, perhaps this is because said chap sees him as the über-MP. So somehow, we need to make him the anti-MP.
Some battle, this. No wonder that the political class has turned on Derek Conway and his Munsterish kin with such ill-disguised fury. The Conservatives, particularly. Take it from me, this is what you get as a part of the extended Tory family — the blithe, lazy assumption, from normal people who haven’t even properly thought about it, that you and yours must be corrupt, and milking it, and somehow on the take. As this magazine argued last week, Conway is exactly what the Tories have spent the last few decades insisting that they are not.
These days, Labour too has the stench of sleaze. So, just like Muslims, MPs find themselves stuck in the phenomenon of ‘obviously the vast majority, but ... ’. As in, ‘obviously, the vast majority of Muslims are peaceful, law-abiding citizens, but ... ’. As in, ‘obviously, the vast majority of MPs are decent, hon ourable, upstanding folk, but ... ’. Language becomes a cloak. And yet, have you noticed that nobody who speaks like this sounds like they even believe their own words? I mean, obviously, the vast majority do, but....
Do you think David Cameron might be fattist? I know his own weight tends to yo-yo somewhat, but reading about Sportacus, the Icelandic superhero on whom he is pinning his hopes in the battle against obesity, I suddenly realised there is a distinct lack of high-profile porkers in the shadow Cabinet. Liam Fox is no sylph, mind you, and nor is Oliver Letwin. Maybe that is why he never lets them out.
I’m pretty confused by Sportacus. Did you know about him already? He’s been on BBC2 for a couple of years, in a show called Lazy Town. He wears suitably Tory-blue lycra, and spends his time alternately fighting an arch nemesis called Robbie Rotten and eating fresh vegetables. ‘Although it may sound funny,’ says a Tory spokesman, ‘the message is a serious one.’ In Iceland, Sportacus was originally known as Íþróttaálfurinn, the Athletic Elf.
I have never seen Lazy Town, but thanks to Wikipedia and YouTube, I feel I know Sportacus pretty well. Indeed, perhaps I know too much. I know that he is youngish, and has a very thin, possibly waxed, moustache. I know that he is Icelandic, and yet speaks English in what appears to be a Super Mario Bros Italian accent. I know that he lives in an airship, and I know that he descends to Earth in some sort of flying pedalo. I also know that there is serious suggestion that he hails from the Shetland Isles.
Sportacus is the brainchild of a guy called Magnus Scheving, who plays the hero himself. He has sold Lazy Town all around the world, and was last seen in Britain at the National Obesity Conference forum, walking on his hands. He also sings the theme song. God, I hope somebody is making a documentary about Mr Scheving. He sounds like a character from a Ben Stiller film.
All quite bonkers, of course, as children’s television tends to be. However, quite perplexingly, I can find no evidence at all that Sportacus smokes cigarettes. And yet, as everybody knows, if you are starting to get a bit porky, there is no better way to slim down. Right, Dave?
Hugo Rifkind is a writer for the Times.
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