Seeing Through The Red Mist: Do MPs Shout For The Sake Of Shouting?

Seven months on from the UK General Election, I’ve finally calmed down. A bit. Fortunately, the UK has been under one of its characteristically never-ending cold snaps, allowing me to cool off from the red mist of election time in sub-zero temperatures.

But this begs the question. How do we all become so consumed by election madness, anger and tribalism? And is that hot headedness a daily constant for our MPs? That’s right – we’re diving deep into our hearts this Valentine’s Day.

Instead of preparing a candlelit dinner of chicken and wine, I’ve been re-reading all the articles I wrote under the heat of the General Election – and I’ve noticed something remarkable. Every single one is the written incarnation of banging my head against a Labour-red brick wall.

It’s true. I became engulfed by the Westminster bubble, a victim of the virus of animosity. I cheered every policy the Conservatives dreamed up on the hoof, while jeering at every derisory move Keir Starmer made towards the door of Number 10. Like so many others during this weird and whacky time, I became a megaphone for records I didn’t even know the names of. I became tribal.

Perhaps I do myself a disservice. Because I also happened to notice everything I warned would happen under a Labour government has in fact happened – but a million times worse. I said Britain would decline under Labour, that tax hikes and spending cuts were coming, that Great British Snailways wouldn’t work and that Labour’s immigration policy was weaker than locking the door with a cheese puff. Not in my wildest dreams, however, did I ever think the government would cripple our farmers, waspishly pick on pensioners and destroy our special relationship with the Americans.

So my gut feeling was right, and I was right to warn people. But I know I was constantly fighting to see through a thick, unmoving fog of red mist that descended on Britain during the election. The anger was palpable. The tribalism was palpable.

And that word tribalism is the key here, really. Politics has become immensely tribal. In the UK, declaring yourself a Remainer or Brexiteer was as person-defining as supporting Manchester United or Manchester City. Donald Trump has stoked the same polarisation in the US, where you’re either in his camp or you’re trying to burn it down. This is what I’d call Marmite politics – you either love or hate a political party now. There’s no in between.

Think about it. What unites us is now less powerful than what we disagree about. Hatred has become stronger than unity. You only need to look at how the politics of hatred has launched Nigel Farage to the top of the greasy pole to see that.

During elections, such tribal divisions become even more entrenched.  You become locked into a shouting match where everyone forgets why they’re shouting. Everyone becomes blind sighted by their own hatred.

This is what happened to me during the General Election. I was lambasting for the sake of lambasting, jeering for the sake of jeering. True values and true feelings become lost in a swamp of herd mentality that drives us to be angry and vindictive – simply because everyone else is acting likewise. What I am describing here also happens to be the daily norm for the regular X (Twitter) user, where echo chambers darker than Alcatraz lock people into one narrow, concrete view of the world.

All of this begs the question. Does this clouded, tribal anger dominate the daily lives of our MPs? Are they shouting for the sake of shouting? Do they jeer for the sake of jeering?

I think it would be grossly unfair to suggest our hardworking MPs are constantly locked into a herd mentality with no idea what they’re saying. However, in those big moments like Prime Minster’s Questions or in TV interviews, is the reason why politicians are so often accused of never answering questions because they simply aren’t listening, because they can’t hear the criticism over their tribal walls? They say you need crocodile-thick skin to become a politician – and perhaps this is part of it. Perhaps you need to add an ounce of blindness into the mix to continue wheeling yourself out to public events and bang the same drum, time and time again.

All I can say is this. In elections, we separate ourselves into tribes which are black or white – or, more accurately, red or blue or yellow or green. In the echo chamber of one colour, you fail to listen to other colours. You fail to understand the critical fact: life is not black or white, or red or blue or yellow or green. It is a mix of all of them. Understanding more than one point of view is a great strength that is sadly lost during severe politicisation.

With that in mind, here’s my message to you, Keir Starmer. Quit seeing red. Quit the drum banging. Accept your mistakes and reverse them. Find some space in your heart for the farmers, pensioners and businesses this Valentine’s Day.

Image: Wikimedia Commons/UK Parliament

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