Political commentary

No room to swing a mace

Ferdinand Mount

Uncle Matthew's only argument for keeping peeresses in their own right out of the House of Lords was that, if once they got in, they might use the peers' lavatory. His daughter Linda — one of Nancy Mitford's Hons. — defended him by pointing out that this was what all the peers thought but he was the only one who dared to say it. In the consideration of reform, it is always important to find out what the diehards are really worried about. And there is no doubt that what really disturbs opponents of the broadcasting of Parliament — which starts on radio next week — is the thought of Mr Michael Heseltine twirling the mace round his head twice nightly on your screens, thus bringing Parliament into disrepute and derision and casting some doubt upon honourable members' claims to be engaged on arduous and profound debate. In extreme versions of the nightmare the media would adopt Tarzan swinging the mace as the logo or credit sequence of all parliamentary coverage, not unlike the muscleman with the gong in the old J. Arthur Rank days. What MPs are really terrified of is being made fun of. They dread being caught yawning and snoring or umming and erring. They also fear repetitions of perversions like the satirists' setting to music of Harold Macmillan's rendering of 'She Wouldn't Say Yes, She Wouldn't Say No' (he was describing Labour's attitude to the Common Market to a Tory conference).

Your may not be aware of the fact, but we now have the rudiments of a law to hinder comedians from poking fun at MPs. At 3.56 a.m. on 27 July last year, a bare quorum of the House of Commons resolved by 37-0 that (let me quote the clause in all its beauty): 'no signal, whether direct or recorded, made pursuant to this Resolution shall be used by the broadcasting authorities, or by any organisation supplied with such signal, in light entertainment programmes or programmes designed as political satire; nor shall any record, cassette or other device making use of such signal be published unless the committee shall have satisfied themselves that it is not designed for such entertainment or satire.'

The immediate impetus behind this comes from The Nearly Man Incident, which occurred two years ago as a consequence of the four-week experimental radio broadcasts of Parliament. During an episode of that political soap opera, two characters, both MPs, were listening to the radio and eleven seconds of actual live question time were transmitted, featuring personages no less than the Speaker, the Prime Minister and Mr James Wellbeloved. At the end of this epic indiscretion, one MP

character said to the other, 'Not exactly Hancock's Half-Hour, are we?' These scandalous words, constituting a clear breach of privilege and contempt of the House, not to mention sedition and blas phemy, were of course heard by hordes of MPs, not least Mr Wellbeloved. MPs always switch on anything remotely connected with themselves. The Matter was Raised. A Serious View was taken. Lady Plowden, chairman of the Independent Broadcasting Authority, wrote a sort of apology arguing

correctly that The Nearly Man was not entertainment but incorrectly that it was a

serious programme. The matter lodged like grit in that large sector of the parliamentary brain marked Umbrage. Hence the new rules.

At first, MPs were also inclined to worry about balance and the possibilities of polit

ical distortion. But as so many of them listen religiously to Today 'Yesterday in Parliament in the hope of hearing their own words, they have mostly come, somewhat grudgingly, to admit that the BBC does maintain an impartial balance and provide a true and fair account — which is not that difficult to do if you set your mind to it.

Much more important is the quantity of broadcasting. There is going to be a lot of Parliament on the radio — far more than I had originally realised. Mr Peter Hardim an Scott, who is mastermindini the operation, believes that coverage will stimulate further demand (it comes as a slight shock to discover that behind the Reithian resonance of Hardiman Scott there lurked a boyish Peter — rather as though one had discovered that Lord Gladwyn's full name was Terry Gladwyn Jebb). Although Prime Minister's question time twice a week is the only regular live feature planned at first, there will be highlights in Today /Yesterday in Parliament, The World at One, The PM Programme, plus extracts in news bulletins on TV as well as radio, plus special live transmissions such as the Budget. There is even to be a weekly radio review of proceedings in select and standing committees, many of which like all proceedings in both chambers will be recorded in toto and filed on tape for reference and study. It is a considerable operation and the BBC does not pretend to conceal its hope that radio is but a beginning. Technically, it is already possible to provide an unobtrusive high-quality television service by means of miniature remotely controlled cameras recording direct on to videotape and able to operate in poor light, under the ENG system (short for Electronic News Gathering). The pressure seems too strong for TV to be resisted for many more years. At the. moment, apart

from Eire, Britain is almost alone among Western European countries in having no regular live broadcasting of Parliament. Many countries already have television coverage too.

The effect of broadcasting Parliament is likely to reach far deeper than the Heseltine syndrome. It is not that opening up the proceedings will necessarily give people a better understanding of Parliament, as the BBC hopes. Neither the broadcasters nor the Government are doing anything to assist this hope to become reality. Beyond the odd featurp in the Radio Times there is no sign of a concerted effort to explain Parliament's arcane procedures. Where are the handy guides for schools, the Open UM' versity courses on how Parliament works? Wake up, Shirley.

For an institution so obsessed with It own dignity, Parliament seems criminallY unconcerned with explaining itself. The latest edition of Erskine May's ParliamentarY Practice costs £25. No wonder copies are always disappearing from libraries in the Palace of Westminster. The guide provided for visitors to the gallery is useless.

The basic sources of suspicion about Parliament are its seclusion and insulation. This suspicion is felt rather than fully articulated, often being conveyed in vague geographica■ terms of Them being `Down/Up There away from Us or of Parliament being `e hothouse', artificial, removed from ordinary life. Visitors to the Commons feel this in more concrete physical terms. The Palace is kept at blood-heat. The light is grey and dim. The oak panelling and carpet are drained of colour and dulled by dust. Are we in the won't?, or in outer space or far, far underground. And which way do we go? 'There are nb maps, very few signposts, just an infinity of staircases ending in doors marked 'Members Only'. Visitors, like journalists, are conveyed to the Chamber by a separate sealed-off route, as though Westminster too were designed like the mansions of mad Victorian dukes so that reclusive members should never have to brush by or even be offended by the sight of vulgar persons. Few MPs seem aware of quite how shut away and cut off their Assembly appears to the

public. Because so much of what happens in par"

liament is perceived as hidden away, the natural inclination is to regard it as less important than it is. Power is assumed Mote, and more to reside elsewhere — in the Civu Service, in the parties outside Parliament' And this is a self-reinforcing process. Per" sons and institutions regarded as of dimill; ishing importance gradually do in diminish in importance. By obtaining 1°., the operations of Parliament that direct.' prominence on radio and television whie" in constitutional theory they ought to. occupy, MPs will add a little to their real prominence. And why not? Could anY Commons debate be as dull and stereotyped as a Panorama interview or a Party political broadcast?