Retropost: Politicians Aren't The Characters They Play On TV

This is a retropost. Mostly written in August 2020 but published long after I left the Civil Service.

It is, although I don't quite realise it, the depths of the pandemic. Everyone is relegated to working from home. Thousands of Civil Servants trying to keep things running from their kitchen tables, on dodgy WiFi, with crying children in the background.

Things are happening quickly. Much more quickly than ever before. Perhaps that's a good thing, but it doesn't leave much time for preparation. I know it is terribly clichéd of me to think I'm in an episode of The West Wing, but this scene keeps running through my head:

Today I have meeting with one the Internet's "Main Characters". You know, that politician. The one you (and certainly I) have send snarky tweets about - the duplicitous lickspittle. Every time I see them on TV I physically cringe. How can someone like that be part and parcel of the democratic process? Ugh!

The Zoom call flickers to life. A couple of dozen people start appearing like the world's dullest advent calendar. The Minister is, of course, late. The twat. We make small talk and eventually their grinning mug graces us with their presence.

I've seen this wazzock lose their rag on Question Time - there's no way they can manage a meeting with this many people.

But… I'm wrong. I'm very wrong. They are collegiate and welcoming. They acknowledge the strain we're all under and give us a reassuring - and human - thanks for our hard work. They have complete command of the room. They know who to call on to ask a question. Their follow ups are friendly and incisive - not flippant and ignorant.

They're as good as any CEO I've worked with.

And then they turn to me.

My job is simple. They have requested something from our department. It is my job to say "no".

I'm nervous. Lockdown has worn me down and there's every chance I'll make what's euphemistically called "a career limiting remark".

"Terence! Thanks so much for joining us. I know you're all frightfully busy. Have you had the chance to consider...?"

I give them the bad news. I distil several hours of technical discussions and (small p) political wrangling into a couple of sentences. I brace for impact. Surely this smug git isn't going make me walk the plank?

"I see. What about...?" they then launch into a, frankly, excellent dismantling of my position. I cynically wonder who has been briefing them. But as our conversation progresses (!) it's clear they've actually read the paper we presented them. They know the science, the law, and the technology.

I wasn't prepared for the fact that they were… competent!

However after a few minutes (that feel like an eternity) they concede. I am right. They are wrong. There are no fireworks. No histrionics. No sloganeering, Gish-galloping, or threats. They are charming, intelligent, and happy to be contradicted.

The eye of Sauron moves on. I breathe. If we had capitulated, I'm sure the decision would have been in the papers. It might even have been in (what we're all grimly calling) The Inevitable Public Inquiry. As it is, it will be a dusty footnote about what might have been.

Later that night, I scroll through Twitter. The Minister's account pops up - and they're spewing the sort of appalling rhetoric which would make a Roman Senator blush.

I speak to my mentor about the encounter. "Politicians aren't the characters they play on TV," they say.

Sure, some of them are idiots. But it is hard to be elected without having some level of charm and ability to make personal connections.

Yeah, a few are promoted above their ability, but many are quietly competent at running a department of thousands of people.

And, of course, they all play up to the cameras. Every sound-bite is a vote. Every spittle of fury a chance to go viral and raise their profile. Every stunt a chance to embed themselves into the nation's psyche.

We all code-switch. The way you talk to you partner isn't the same way you speak to your friends. The way you talk to your co-workers isn't the same way you speak to your plumber.

And the way politicians speak to their electorate isn't always the same way they speak to their public servants.

It took me an embarrassingly long time to figure that out.

---

Whoever you think this is about, you're wrong. I had the same experience several times throughout Covid and have amalgamated them into this parable of a blog post.