‘I felt like I had let everyone down’
Quitting as Lib Dem leader left Tim Farron MP’S mental health in a parlous state. He chose prayer over politics – and doesn’t regret it for a moment, finds Joe Shute
Prior to launching his bid to lead the Liberal Democrats in 2015, Tim Farron MP spent a day with 10 or so close friends and advisers holed up in a Lake District hotel. On the agenda was a new slogan for his embryonic campaign – “a fresh start” – and to look at anything in his character or history that could prove to be a potential pitfall.
“My faith was seen both as a strength and weakness,” recalls Farron, a born-again evangelical Christian. It turned out to be very much the latter.
Soon after being elected by the party he was confronted with a question that he still visibly winces at when I raise it today: “Do you believe gay sex is a sin?”
The short answer was – and remains – yes. He admits now that the first time he was asked his view on the matter he knew it would not go away, unless he were to explicitly deny his own faith, which transpired was something he was not prepared to do.
Surely that is the “rabbit hole” – Farron’s words – he and his advisers should have been better prepared for when it reared its head in the run-up to the 2017 general election?
“If I blame anybody at all, I blame me,” Farron says, before adding cheerfully. “And I don’t even think I do that.”
In 2017 the party increased its number of seats from 8 to 12, but fared unexpectedly badly in some progressive metropolitan areas (Nick Clegg and Farron’s friend Greg Mulholland lost their seats in Sheffield Hallam and Leeds North West respectively). With some party figures blaming the focus on Farron’s views for the slump, he resigned soon after, saying he felt “remaining faithful to Christ” was incompatible with leading his party.
Yet Tony Blair managed it – his press secretary Alastair Campbell once famously interrupted him as he began to speak about his faith with the edict: “We don’t do God.” Similarly, Theresa May, a devout Christian, managed to sidestep questions about her faith. When
asked by a reporter what she prayed for as she left church, the then prime minister replied: “Better questions from journalists.”
“Perhaps Theresa May was wiser and more careful than me,” Farron reflects. Or simply a better politician? “Maybe. That might be all it is.”
Still, Farron insists that during his time at the helm he put his party on to the resurgent path it occupies today, pointing to the fact that membership doubled under his leadership.
The Lib Dems’ firm Remain stance, championed by Jo Swinson, the new leader, has already scooped up MPS from other parties and, it is hoped, will attract disgruntled Tory and Labour voters. “It is very important in our tone to be inclusive,” he says.
So what about the recent Lib Dem campaign slogan “B------- to Brexit”, chosen for the European elections? “It’s not the kind of thing I would have come up with,” Farron admits.
I meet the 49-year-old in his Westmorland and Lonsdale constituency in the Lake District ahead of the publication of his autobiography, which comes out this week. It is only two years since he stepped down from the leadership, though such is the febrile pace of modern politics that it feels like a lifetime.
Our interview is on the same morning that Boris Johnson announces the proroguing of Parliament, a move Farron describes as “a clear attempt to undermine accountability and scrutiny and a theft of democracy”. On working with other opposition parties to prevent no deal – Swinson has been involved in talks – Farron issues a word of caution. “I’m happy to work with the Tories or Labour to stop bad things happening, but we need to be aware they are both just playing games here,” he says.
Farron’s fresh-faced features and youthful zeal are oft remarked upon. He wears oxblood Doc Martens and points out to the photographer his Viz jigsaw (Farron adores the cult comic). He combines fell running with pints of local ale and the occasional crafty cigarette. “Don’t tell the kids,” he whispers. Far from any lingering sense of regret, he exudes relief to have left the Westminster bubble (and backstabbing) behind.
With politics entering full-blown crisis mode, he spent the previous day playing football with youngsters on estates in Kendal and after our interview was planning a hike up one of Wainwright’s smaller fells with his two teenage sons.
“Being leader of the party is a great mission and duty,” he says. “But I won’t pretend my mental health isn’t significantly better because I can immerse myself in the life of this community.”
Farron’s book about his troubled tenure is called Better Ambition (his suggestion), with the more mischievous subtitle Confessions of a Faithful Liberal (his publisher’s). It charts his journey from working class Preston boy to joining the Lib Dems aged 16, to finding God while on a trip to Singapore aged 18.
Predictably, Farron devotes pages to patiently explaining his views on sin. “It’s not for me to pontificate on what the Bible tells you,” he says. “I accept what the Bible says humbly and treat everyone equally.”
He attempts to further explain his position – which is essentially, I think, that we are all sinful in the eyes of God – and it becomes ever more apparent how easily voters could fail to grasp the nuances of his message. Eventually he breaks off. “We all want to be known and understood. That there is a perception of me – and probably still is – that I’m not a loving or tolerant person is to me quite painful.”
His book describes the subsequent dark times. “It is a sense of being broken, hopeless and useless, that I have let everyone down, especially my family, not for any particularly logical reasons,” Farron writes.
But in person he proves much more circumspect. “At times it felt pretty grim,” he says, briskly. “I do not feel like a victim. I don’t want people thinking that I do at all.”
He says he was never officially diagnosed with depression, but certainly recognised his mental health was suffering. “It was clearly triggered by external events you could trace. This wasn’t any darkness that was untraceable. It was obvious what had happened. One can understand that better and fear it less.”
The lowest point for Farron came in May last year when he cancelled an appearance at a church event in Manchester after the promotional literature criticised the “gay lobby” as well as “increasing problems with immigration” – sentiments with which Farron insists he wholly disagrees.
He won’t name names but the subsequent social media pile-on involved plenty of members of his own side. “People form an opinion of you which is hurtful. I guess it is just the Twitterati but many are people I genuinely know and love and have done for decades. I’m not blaming any of them, but that is the impact.”
He did not seek therapy, but naturally he prayed. “What is massively important to me is to demonstrate and feel a sense of grace to others,” he says. “To be utterly forgiving, take it on the chin, not to sulk or whine.”
He is thankful his family were kept, largely, out of the fray. If he has a word of warning for Swinson about what to expect, it would be the impact on home life. “She doesn’t need me to tell her it’s a great joy and honour to be leader, but you need to protect yourself,” he says.
His wife Rosie works in human resources at a nearby university and they have four children. He has raised them Christian and says the family attend church together. I wonder whether he has encouraged any constituents to convert?
“I’m not going to talk about individuals I may have spoken to and may or may not have come to faith,” he says. “But it is important for Christians to do. Not be intolerant or ram it down people’s necks, but at the same time gently, respectfully, when the opportunity arises, to set out the case.”
However, he is insistent he never brings God into his constituency surgeries. “If a bus driver while handing over tickets said ‘let me share Jesus with you’, they would be rightly sacked, so I never do that.”
Back on to politics and I wait in vain for a note of regret to creep into his voice. Instead I am met with waves of enthusiasm. “I’m absolutely lacking in any regret,” he says. “People who have been leaders beforehand have a sense of disappointment around them, I don’t feel that in the slightest.”
Partly that is explained by his love for the constituency he has served since 2005. But more so it is his unshakeable faith in God that lifts him far above the fray, even to the detriment of his career.
“It is all flipping temporary,” he says. “It is close to being pointless and yet it is what fills the papers, social media, our attention and is all over in an instant. What I believe in is something that matters far more.”
When it comes to faith and politics, Tim Farron was only ever going to make one choice.
‘That there is a perception of me that I’m not loving or tolerant is painful’