Political Commentary
The House and the box
Hugh Macpherson
At the start of the new session, on October 19, the Commons will once more debate the issue of televising its proceedings. In the best tradition of this mismanaged Victorian club, it will almost certainly allow some experiment, after having dragged itself reluctantly into the age in which it lives, and after much comedy, farce, muddled thinking, pomposity and a good measure of pig-headed stupidity. On the last occasion on which Mr Crossman, as Leader of the House, sought permission to carry out an experiment, the vote was lost by one, and there have been baroque explanations by many an MP as to why he was not present for such an important occasion. The absentees were, in fact, a goodly company, totalling around 370 out of 630 members.
All the arguments against allowing the television cameras in have been rehearsed before, and will all be repeated again. No doubt some worthy Member will say, "You will have every word that is spoken here by gentlemen misrepresented by fellows who thrust themselves into our gallery," which are the words used by the good member Winnington in April 1738, when impertinent journalists were trying to report the proceedings — a partial right, which had been abolished with the Restoration. It took only another century or so, a visit or two to the Tower, some ludicrous excursions to the Bar of the House, and the outlawing of John Wilkes, before a Press Gallery was opened in 1835.
Whilst it may safely be assumed that a television experiment will be introduced without the necessity of Mr Robin Day being locked in the Clock Tower or Mr Julian Haviland being dispatched as a bandit to South America (which are not necessarily undesirable objectives in themselves), the honest citizen must understand that the Tribunes of Westminster are never comfortable at the prospect of any adequate scrutiny of their activities, which is, in part, the reason why both political parties view broadcasting with a mixture of suspicion and hostility.
Even today, the House retains the right of any Member to rise to his feet and cry, "I spy strangers!" (which is the impolite term for you and me), and the Speaker must immediately put the motion before the House that everyone be removed from the public galleries. Until fairly recently there did not have to be a debate at all, but then some bounder bellowed the magic words on April 27, 1875, and when the attendants had thrown everyone out, it was discovered that the Prince of Wales had been shown to the door. The rule was changed, for it is by such monumental events that parliamentary procedure is formed and comic operas are conceived.
There are times when one can understand why the House prefers a small public gallery filled with American tourists and even the odd courting couple. (An attendant cast a baleful glance over an amorous pair, late one evening, but swiftly withdrew when he recognised one to be an MP). The arguments advanced are often contradictory but reflect the fears of what is still largely a part-time assembly. It is said that the nation would be bored, or would misunderstand, or that the camera might encourage the more histrionic Tribune to try to be a horrendous melange of Malcolm Muggeridge, Patrick Moore and David Frost.
No one has ever disputed that there would be such difficulties. For example, a television director would have been sorely tempted to point his camera in the direction of the man who fell asleep in the part of the Gallery upstairs which is reserved for Members, and is technically part of the floor of the House. The Commons are well-adapted to these emergencies at the moment, and when this happened, during a debate on the horrors of Vietnam, one of the attendants discreetly asked another Member to wake the slumbering senator so that they could all pretend he had never been asleep.
And, of course, some Members would try to play-act for the sake of the silver screen. Usually, in the course of private discussion, Members voice fears about men such as Sir Gerald Nabarro, or Mr Faulds, and worry over what the nation would make of the mass hysteria in the House when Dame Irene Ward asks Mr Heath to do his best for her. In fact, far from making these men behave in an artificial manner, televising Parliament could possibly have the directly opposite effect. Sir Gerald is unfortunately unwell at the moment — we all sincerely hope he is soon back to his insufferable best — but when in full cry he made some significant contributions to Parliament, for example, in exposing the absurd nature of purchase tax regulations.
He is often brought into television interviews to provide 'good television,' meaning a vociferous row of an extremely opinionated nature. If he realised that he was being observed in his own territory with the restraints of a measured debate — and Parliament has many of those as well as the dramatic scenes — he would possibly think twice about his well-known self-publicist activities. The same may be said of Mr Andrew .Faulds, who is in private a much liked and rather restrained fellow. In the House he usually bellows abuse from the back row, but if he knew that the displeasure this boorish kind of behaviour causes on both sides of the House was being plainly shown to the people of Smethwick, he might think again *and see more virtue in impersonating the matador rather than the bull.
Whether the nation understands, or misunderstands, what is happening in Parliament, whether some Members choose to make fools of themselves, or whether people became bored ahd do not trouble to switch on, is not relevant. People have a simple right to observe, if they wish, the parliamentary process. Until fairly recently, the best method' of doing this was by the printed word, and this was bitterly resisted because it was claimed that it changed the nature of Parliament, which is also the kind of basic argument which will be used against introducing television cameras in October. But although many people lament the fact, this is the television age.
The final argument used against the introduction of television is that it would be impossible to edit fairly. All that I can say is that over the last seven years I have consistently listened to accounts, on both channels, of debates I have attended particularly in programmes such as Today in Parliament, and have never once detected any misrepresentation — intentional or otherwise. However, no matter what system is adopted — a continuous separate channel or some kind of edited daily programme — I would like to see Question Time in its entirety. This would have obvious local interest, and there could be adequate discussion in local newspapers of the questions which are known well in advance of the days they are asked. It would also be valuable to have all the Ministerial Statements which follow Question Time shown. This would correct many misleading reactions outside the House. For example, when Mr Powell was speaking last week of the influx of Ugandan Asians being the thin edge of a "very thick wedge" and went on to quote a Labour Lord Chancellor as saying there were a million citizens of the UK in Malaysia alone. How .useful it would have been, if Parliament were in session, for the nation to have seen Mr Robert Carr inform the House that this was grossly misleading because the million referred to had dual citizenship and were as much the responsibility of the former colonial territory as of the UK, which is not the position with the Ugandan Asians who hold only British passports. The authority which this would possess would do much to counteract the kind of mischief-making in which Mr Powell indulges. Far from television misrepresenting Parliament, it could be its salvation.
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