I often wonder why politicians feel so compelled to lie. Okay, I'm not suggesting they tell the truth all the time - it'd cause havoc if the public realised the cabinet consists entirely of Pod People. But when there seems no benefit to telling a lie, doesn't it make sense to be honest?
Yesterday, as the spectacular coup in Westminster failed to gain any momentum, Patricia Hewitt popped up uninvited on my radio to explain why she and Geoff 'Nuke the Iraqis' Hoon had taken the odd measure of emailing every Labour MP to ask them if they fancied overthrowing their leader. Hewitt was asked directly if she wanted to see Brown go. I knew the answer, you knew the answer, the whole country knew the bloody answer. As they say, actions speak louder than words, and her clumsy and myopic plan told us one thing loud and clear: she wanted Brown's head to roll.
If she'd have come out an admitted it, she'd have lost no face. She, her colleagues, her opponents, the media, the public, Inuit tribes who've had no contact with the outside world. We all knew what she was trying to do. Being honest would have, maybe, salvaged a slight scrap of respect: "this politician's doing something dodgy, but at least she's telling us she's doing something dodgy." As it was, she got stuck in default 'bending the truth' mode, and everybody knew it.
A truly honest politician wouldn't last long, there's no disguising that. But it seems like a beneficial skill, to be able to work out the moments when being truthful doesn't hurt. The public likes it when you're honest; what they don't like is when you score a massive political own-goal and then lie about it. It's weak, it's embarrassing and, worst of all, it's boring. Stop being boring.
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