What causes so many of our MPs to end up in hot water?
The Conservative Party, still reeling from the spear-phishing revelations which cost William Wragg the whip, now has another eye-popping saga to contend with.
Mark Menzies, the MP for Fylde in Lancashire, stands accused of misuse of party funds in bizarre circumstances after making a late-night phone call to an elderly volunteer, claiming he had been locked up by “bad people” and demanding thousands of pounds.
According to The Times, that sum was reimbursed from funds raised by donors. There are accusations of further potential fraud over expenses. Menzies disputes the allegations and an investigation is now under way.
Tory “sleaze” has returned with a vengeance to haunt a dying government, with a depressing number of MPs suspended on charges of misconduct, abuse of office and sexual misconduct.
In party political terms, scandals are a cross-party phenomenon. Of MPs who have had the whip suspended, eight are former Conservatives and seven formerly sat for Labour, including Nick Brown, a prominent “enforcer” as chief whip under Tony Blair and Gordon Brown, who has resigned from the party after an internal disciplinary process.
What is it about the political class which makes it inclined to risk or outright recklessness in personal conduct? It’s something I have pondered over a few decades at Westminster, often discovering that the minister I had been talking to about some knotty policy area was better known for late-night escapades in unwise company or deploying the office finances in inventive ways.
The psychological profile of the political profession might be a clue to the tendency to end up in hot water. Back in 2006, it was a Liberal Democrat, Mark Oaten, in the firing line over his use of male escorts.
The veteran commentator Matthew Parris reflected that there was “a streak of derring-do in the make-up of a typical would-be politician” which, in the wrong circumstances and a mixture of stress, boredom and opportunity, frequently ended in a bonfire of
their reputation – and damage to their colleagues.
In a more always-on era of social media exhibitionism, this cycle of heady risk and crash-and-burn has intensified.
The rewards of political success are great. Hearing that you have overturned the other side’s control of Little Chipping-bury or turned a north-east former mining seat a difficult political colour is a buzz on an election night.
Quite soon, you forget that your triumph was part of a national swing and see yourself as the hero in your own political drama.
Double lives are common. Menzies was a stalwart of support for Tory business and investment plans, while ending up in a mess in which he damages the party brand and faces a reckoning on his own alleged lack of probity.
Long stints in office and constituencies far from accountability in London tend to produce entitlement, especially when coupled with the downside of the confident 2019 win.
Boris Johnson pulled off an extraordinary feat in returning his party with an 80-seat majority and much of it in seats regarded as natural Labour territory.
That means that a lot of MPs got elected who were never really intended by the party hierarchy to win, which, as one whip puts it “means you are dealing with a lot of very unknown quantities who just ‘took a chance’ on politics in an Abba sort of way”.
My instinct was to think this led to less discipline, since the vast majority of these characters will be gone at the coming election. A look at the data tells me I was wrong: it is actually longer-stay MPs who get into more trouble. The 2010 intake seems particularly drama prone.
Some rules of thumb apply down the years: Tories seem to end up in proportionately more scandals of a sexual nature. A lot of Labour suspensions are about saying foolishly extreme things and seeing no reason to back down. Money scandals affect those in government more than the Opposition, because money follows power.
There is no excuse for abusing trust or letting down voters who expect that their elected representative will show some degree of self-discipline in their private lives. But we are also a bit paradoxical about what kind of people we want to be politicians.
They must be wholesome, never give in to a wilder streak or have drug or alcohol problems. They must make an impact, without the streak of oddity which often accompanies extroverts who seek the public stage.
They must be like us – but more attracted to public duty. And they must sternly promise to clean up politics, knowing that many will succumb to temptations.
When the sleaze comes down, it feels like a surprise. All things considered, it rarely is.
Tory ‘sleaze’ has returned with a vengeance to haunt a dying government