Why Can’t We All Just Get Along

Chapter 2

When Opposites Collide

‘A conversation in which the two parties have different beliefs should never begin with the intention of converting the other party to your own beliefs. Every worthwhile conversation’s goal should be to understand the other person’s opinions and help them understand your own.’

Emily Eskowich

Politicians of all colours will be used to hearing two things when they go canvassing. They’ll knock on the door of 32 Acacia Avenue and will be greeted by Mrs Miggins, who will berate them and accuse them of being all the same. She will question why she should bother to vote given there’s no real choice. Then she will slam the door, feeling a warm afterglow of giving a politician what for. The politician then moves on to number 34 and speaks to Mr Bloggs, who opens the door and explains that he thinks it would be wonderful if politicians could put all their interests aside in the national interest. ‘Why can’t you all just get along?’ he asks plaintively, not actually expecting a real answer.

These two views of the world are both perfectly understandable, and widely held. But they are mutually exclusive. While politicians will take every opportunity to be all things to all people, essentially they come in two breeds. Breed number 1 is the ideologically pure politician who is totally sure of his/her own views and creed, and won’t brook any kind of compromise. It’s a game of them and us. There’s a right and wrong, with few shades of grey.

Breed number 2 despises confrontation and recognises that the minority have a right to be represented, and politics is the art of compromise.

Breed 1 and Breed 2 do not understand each other. They therefore question each other’s motives, and in a world of hung parliaments stalemate ensues, often followed by a degree of personal acrimony and vituperation. Look at how MPs on both sides of the Brexit debate have acted in recent years, not just towards their political opponents, but towards each other too, even if they were ostensibly supposed to be taking the same party whip.

For many it’s deeply personal. Some Labour backbenchers loathed their leader, Jeremy Corbyn and they didn’t bother to hide it. There was similar acrimony on the Tory benches where some Remainers had no reservation about talking to the media in the most lurid terms about their leader, Boris Johnson.

Television and radio shows delight in putting opposites up against each other to create a row. It was ever thus in some ways but the priority of producers nowadays is to achieve a moment that can go viral on Facebook or YouTube and grab a page lead in the next day’s newspapers. All this is entirely understandable, but rather than enhancing the quality of public debate, it damages it.

I like to think that I’ve rarely gone down that road, and if I have there has been a good reason for it.

Each week I record an hour-long podcast with former Labour Home Secretary Jacqui Smith. It’s called ‘For the Many’. We gave it that title because we want it to appeal to people across the political spectrum. How do we do that? By being civil to each other and not deliberately having a row. In more than 150 episodes I don’t think we have ever raised our voices or shouted down the other. We talk about the political events of the week and try to interpret them for our audience, which is not just full of political geeks. People listen to us while cooking the dinner, working out in the gym or walking the dog. We do it with a light touch and provide a few laughs along the way.

Arguing respectfully and with humour is surely better than an hour of ding-dongs in which there may be a lot of drama but not a lot of nuance. And that’s why we have one of the highest rated UK political podcasts. Indeed, you look at some of the other good ones, such as Nick Robinson’s Political Thinking or Matt Forde’s Political Party or Paul Brand’s Acting Prime Minister, and you can see they have two things in common. They are at least 30 minutes in length and they are conversational. There is no battle of wills. No presenter trying to be the story rather than the person they are interviewing. If only more political TV and radio programmes had this approach.

Back in May 2017 I became part of a new weekly political discussion show on CNN International called CNNTalk. The format was very simple. One presenter, Max Foster, plus a panel of three – me, former Labour adviser Ayesha Hazarika, and economist and Telegraph columnist Liam Halligan. We would discuss one subject for half an hour. The chemistry between us was instant. Max knew when to intervene or just let us get on with it. He is a presenter who doesn’t think it’s all about him. Yes, from time to time we could have some feisty arguments, but because they didn’t happen every show, the audience realised they were genuine disagreements when they happened. After a while CNN asked if we’d do the show twice a week, then three times, and then it went daily. The audience loved it, and CNN HQ loved it. The theme of the show often revolved around Donald Trump’s latest antics, Brexit, terrorism, gun control or sometimes something more esoteric, such as whether 3D printers could make replica guns. We would never know the subject until three hours before it went on air, and there were many times when I walked into the studio wondering what on earth I could say, given I knew very little about what we were to talk about. What it taught me was that I can actually speak about any subject and sound authoritative and calm. I was like the proverbial swan – calm on the surface but feet paddling away under water.

It was a real sadness to us all when, after two years, the show was canned, for no other reason than CNN decided to go in a different direction.

Compare CNNTalk with the BBC’s Question Time and they are like chalk and cheese. One is all about calm, rational debate and hopefully informing its audience. The other used to have the same aims, yet currently has become a bearpit of political arm wrestling, and not just among the panellists – the audience now readily participate too. When the show started in September 1979 under the chairmanship of Sir Robin Day, there were four panellists. Nowadays there are five or sometimes six, which means each panellist has to compete for the stage. In the early years each participant would speak when they were asked to. They treated each other with respect. Today it is very different, with many panellists often being openly contemptuous of the others. The word ‘liar’ is thrown around with impunity. Other insults are commonplace. The audience thinks nothing of totally disrespecting the guests or even each other.

I’ve appeared on the programme twice, with very contrasting experiences. In April 2018 I made my debut. I was half excited and half filled with dread. Why dread? Well, quite a few people have made complete arses of themselves on Question Time, in a way that’s more difficult to do on its radio equivalent, Any Questions? There’s that constant fear of gulping like a goldfish when you get a question that completely throws you. Or you have a row with another panellist and come off worst. However, I talk for three hours every day about subjects I may know very little about or am not interested in personally, so over the years you develop an ability and a confidence to talk reasonably fluently about anything that’s put to you. But you do have to have some self-knowledge. For instance, although I could be reasonably confident of doing OK on Question Time, I would certainly not have the confidence to do a show like Have I Got News for You. I’ve learned over the years that although I am capable of being funny, I’m not half as funny as I like to think I am!

My first appearance was in Chesterfield. The other panellists were Vince Cable, Liz Truss, Emily Thornberry and Guardian columnist Nesrine Malik. It was also Nesrine’s first time.

I arrived around 6 p.m. and there then followed an hour of chit-chat, briefing from the producers and make-up. David Dimbleby swept into the room at around 7.50 and made a great effort to sit down and talk to Nesrine and I individually. He was incredibly charming, put us at our ease and encouraged us to interact with the audience and the other panellists, and not to be shy to interject.

‘Do you know the questions in advance?’ is the second most frequent question I’ve had and I can categorically say no. However, let’s face it, you have to be a bit of a dunce if you can’t predict the subject areas of at least two or three questions.

By the time we were called to go into the auditorium I had exactly the same feeling as I always have before Any Questions? I become a nervous wreck, convinced that I am totally underprepared and won’t have a thought in my head to express when David Dimbleby calls on me.

Some panellists go on stage with no notes, others have reams. Nesrine didn’t have any notes, which I rather admired. I just took on small cue cards with five bullet points on each subject. I also had a newspaper article that I would have used against Vince Cable had Brexit come up. But it didn’t. The notes were a safety valve. In the end I didn’t look at them very often. Someone I know who was on Question Time recently looked over at his fellow panellists’ notes and saw that virtually every potential answer on every conceivable subject was more or less scripted.

And so the time came. We all stood in the wings waiting to be called in by David Dimbleby. I was first, as I was seated on the far side of the stage. I walked in and smiled at the audience before taking my seat. All the others then took theirs. Emily Thornberry got a very loud cheer, which made me think it would be a very pro-Labour audience. In fact, it was a very fair audience and devoid of some of the usual frothing-at-the-mouthers that there have been on the programme in recent years. The whole set is much smaller and more intimate than it seems when watching on TV. You’re much closer to the audience than the TV pictures show.

The warm-up question was a complete surprise. ‘Was the Derbyshire Chief Constable right to order the Police Male Voice Choir to change its name and include women?’ I always think the thing to do in a warm-up question is to make the audience laugh, which I tried to do, although I now can’t remember what I said. In fact, to be honest, the audience members gave far better responses than any of the panel. Anyway, with that, we were off. David Dimbleby pressed his stop-watch, turned to face the camera and introduced the panel.

I didn’t go in with any pre-prepared lines because I think it rarely ever works. One bit of advice Piers Morgan gave me in advance was to make sure you give a direct answer to the question. He reckoned too many people skirt around the original question, forget what it was within thirty seconds, and then go on a tour of the whole subject. It was good advice and I think I did answer every question directly.

The biggest dilemma is to know when to interrupt another panellist. On a debut show you don’t want to be too much of a shrinking violet, but then again you don’t want to appear too dominating. I know from previous experience of being on a panel that I always come off the stage thinking I didn’t have enough of a say, and yet when I watch it back I’ve probably spoken more than anyone else. Sometimes less is more. If you ramble, you know you’ll be cut off. I adopted a policy of only interrupting when I really had something to say.

I’m long enough in the tooth to know when I’ve performed well on a programme and when I haven’t. I knew when I came off stage I’d done better than I thought I would, so I was quite content.

On my second appearance, in September 2019, it was all rather different. David Dimbleby had retired and Fiona Bruce had taken over the presenter’s role. It was the first show of the programme’s autumn run, and the government and country were in a meltdown over the prospect of a no-deal Brexit. Unusually it was broadcast live, which meant I could present my evening radio show, then get a cab over to the venue in Westminster. I arrived just a few minutes before we went on stage for the warm-up question, so didn’t have a lot of time to chat to the five, yes five, other panellists. Again Emily Thornberry, Labour’s Shadow Foreign Secretary, was on the show, along with government minister Kwasi Kwarteng, the SNP Westminster leader Ian Blackford, Liberal Democrat MP Layla Moran and Brexit Party MEP Richard Tice.

In 15 years of political TV punditry it had never occurred to me to walk out of a show, live on air. But it nearly happened on this show. The thought flitted through my mind as yet again the other panellists talked over each other and I was barely allowed to get a sentence out without being interrupted.

As SNP Westminster leader Ian Blackford interrupted me for the third time, after I had barely uttered a word, I threw up my hands and blustered: ‘What on earth is the point of debating if this is what you’re going to do?’

Don’t get me wrong, interrupting is all part of the cut and thrust of political debate. It has its place, but we all know the rules of the game. With the exception of the Liberal Democrat Layla Moran, all of the other panellists took interrupting to an extreme, which made large parts of the programme unwatchable.

In the three days following the show I received around four hundred emails, and gained an extra ten thousand Twitter followers. There had been widespread outrage at the lamentable standard of debate on the show, and how it was handled.

The truth is that Question Time is not alone in suffering from this. On this and other shows, politicians think it is quite acceptable to call each other ‘liars’ on TV, and Emily Thornberry did this within half a minute in her first answer.

There are ways of calling out mendacious politicians without actually calling them ‘liars’. Fiona Bruce didn’t see fit to pick her up on that, yet did challenge Tory MP Kwasi Kwarteng later in the show, asking him: ‘Are you calling Emily dishonest?’

Question Time has become a bear pit where the audience behaves in a way it would never have done ten years ago. I’m not seeking to hark back to an age of deference, but the bear-baiting and insults that go from audience to panel and back are rendering such programmes almost unwatchable for many.

I well remember the golden days of the show when the likes of Dr David Starkey, Clare Short, Shirley Williams and Norman Tebbit would debate robustly but with respect for each other and the rules of the show. Perhaps we need to take a leaf out of the Norwegian political TV show Einig, where panellists are obliged to be polite to each other, not interrupt, and to listen and then engage. It could happen here if we had a broadcaster brave enough to embrace the format. The recently retired BBC Director General Lord Hall made a speech in early 2020 in which he said: ‘I’m a great believer in the long-form political interview where you can explore at length, not in soundbites, the real policy decisions that politicians are making.’ He’s right.

In some ways I can’t blame the Question Time audience for being angry. They have been let down by a generation of politicians, most of whom don’t even acknowledge the fact.

Over the last few years Brexiteers have rightly complained about the imbalance of panels on political TV shows like Newsnight, Politics Live and Question Time. I once refused to appear on a panel to discuss Brexit when I was outnumbered three to one. It’s not that I can’t look after myself, but producers who think it is OK to put together a panel like that shouldn’t be in the job.

Because of the political events of the week, it was clear that Brexit would dominate the show, so the Question Time producers decided to have a panel of three Brexit supporters and three Remainers. But with six panellists rather than the usual five, it was clear that everyone would struggle to make themselves heard.

In retrospect it would have been better to go with four panellists and allow a more meaningful debate to take place. But it could still have worked with six panellists had each of the panellists played the game. Instead, it became the Emily Thornberry show. However, it was me who was upbraided for having the temerity to try to engage with an audience member, and was reprimanded by Fiona Bruce with a curt: ‘This is not the Iain Dale show.’

She was dead right. I spoke for precisely 4 minutes 33 seconds in a total of eight interventions, whereas Emily Thornberry spoke for 10 minutes 34 seconds in 15 interventions, two of which were more than two minutes long.

The Brexiteers on the panel spoke for a total of 15 minutes 22 seconds, while the Remainers spoke for 23 minutes 48 seconds. The audience got 7 minutes 46 seconds, of which Brexit-supporting audience members spoke for all of 2 minutes 34 seconds.

Having said all that, while Richard Tice, the Brexit Party MEP, and I spoke the least of all the six panellists, only speaking when you have something to say can have its merits. I deliberately tried not to take part in the orgy of talking over other people. I may not have always succeeded but at least I made the effort.

I would suggest that the Question Time producers go back to having only four panellists from time to time. I suspect the audience would prefer it and there would be a little more light shed on issues, and perhaps a little less heat. They would probably respond: ‘Nice idea, but it wouldn’t make great TV.’

In decades, or even centuries gone by, crowds of tens of thousands would gather to listen to the politicians of the day make grand speeches, even if they couldn’t actually hear a word that was said. In the pre-microphone age, word was passed to the back of the audience explaining what the speaker was saying. As the radio and television age progressed, the appetite for live political debate switched from the church hall to the radio set in the corner of the living room or, later, to the ‘gogglebox’.