Britain is a democracy with caveats. We have a “free press”, but most newspapers are the tools of wealthy oligarchs to fervently advance their political agenda. Almost all adults have the right to vote, but the affluent and big business wield far more power than the average citizen through political donations, lobbying and sheer economic might. And – as new Guardian analysis underlines – our democracy remains corrupted by a “revolving door” between the world of politics and big business, despite promises by the government to cap MPs’ income from second jobs in the wake of the Owen Paterson lobbying scandal.
That MPs have amassed £10m from second jobs and freelance work in the last year should still shock, even factoring in that around half of this sum ended up in Boris Johnson’s bank account. From the rightwing TV channels offering well paid media gigs, to lucrative consultancies with property developers and investment firms, being a parliamentarian can be a springboard for considerable financial advancement.
The self-serving justification offered by our rulers goes like this: juggling one or more jobs on top of being an elected servant of the people injects much-needed experience into the Westminster bubble. But this wilfully misunderstands what being an MP is actually about. It’s not a job, it’s a service. Until 1911, it was completely unpaid, helping to ensure the House of Commons was a rich man’s club, where – except for trade union sponsorship – only the well-to-do could afford to stand for election. That was rightly rectified, and by the 1970s MPs were properly remunerated.
A backbencher’s salary of £86,584 now places them comfortably in the top 5% of earners, but we are told that their level of pay deters talent from parliamentary representation. If an individual considers that to be a deterrence to entering political service, they shouldn’t be thinking about becoming an MP in the first place. Indeed, there’s a strong argument that being paid more than twice as much as the average full-time British worker distances MPs from the everyday struggles of their constituents. Not least during a cost of living crisis.
What is understood by “talent” is often misleading, too. A large proportion of MPs are, by background, businesspeople or lawyers. Very few come from manual working-class occupations. Politics thus attracts many parliamentarians who believe the profit motive is king, and many fewer who know what it’s like to skip hot meals to feed your children, or suffer the insecurity of a zero-hours contract. While being privileged doesn’t mean you’re incapable of empathising with those who struggle, would the burning injustices that define modern British society not be more likely to be prioritised if we had more MPs with lived experiences in tune with the average citizen?
There are MPs of all political stripes who are left exhausted because of their commitment to representing their constituents, and who rightly resent colleagues who find the time to juggle profitable extracurricular activities. But it is the corruption of democracy, rather than the neglect of democratic duties, that should concern us most.
Take the revolving door between media and politics. It should not be controversial to desire a clear demarcation between the fourth estate and politicians. In a healthy democracy, the former should exist to scrutinise the latter.
It’s pernicious enough that so many former high-ranking figures from the BBC ended up as spin doctors for David Cameron, Theresa May, Boris Johnson and Rishi Sunak. But GB News and TalkTV offering Tory politicians such as Nadine Dorries, Lee Anderson and Jacob Rees-Mogg gigs as presenters – the latter being paid around £350,000 a year – should be regarded as a grotesque corruption of democratic norms. What sort of tinpot country allows politicians belonging to the ruling party to present shows that, in large part, should be scrutinising the government of the day?
And as recent research by Transparency International underlines, a large proportion of jobs taken up by former ministers overlap with their previous roles. For example, in the defence sector, this was the case with 81% of new roles taken up by ministers or officials. Take Philip Jones, former chief of naval staff and first sea lord, who took up a job with BAE Systems, a company with a close commercial relationship with the government. While approving his appointment, the Advisory Committee on Business Appointments noted Jones was involved in “regular strategic reviews” with the company while in office.
The revolving door means that ministers and senior civil servants are perceived to have one eye on their future career prospects. What implications does this have for their dealings with private companies when in office? It can lead to vested interests exploiting their insider knowledge of government machinery to gain a powerful advantage. It can help bind politicians to the interests of the private sector, too: they may claim the interests of profit-driven enterprises coincide with what’s good for society, but above all they know what’s good for their own bank balances.
An MP should, above all else, champion the interests of their constituents, whose personal struggles are only multiplying, and whose personal connections with the powerful are near nonexistent. But thanks to the revolving door, it is the already mighty vested interests who have the political big beasts fighting their corner.
Owen Jones is a Guardian columnist
