Prime Minister’s Questions: Deeply flawed, deeply compelling

By Cianan Sheekey

It’s incredibly easy to insult something you don’t particularly like or care for, but it's much more difficult to attack the opposite. We often don’t even consider the drawbacks of something we enjoy or view fondly, but concerning the topic of Prime Minister’s Questions (PMQs), the flaws are so apparent that it would take deliberate blindness to miss them.

Parliament’s weekly gladiatorial battle, a constitutional convention introduced in 1961, centres on the exchange between the Prime Minister and the Leader of the Opposition, but also includes questions from other party leaders and backbench MPs. The exchanges contained within are intended to reflect the strength of accountability in a British representative democracy; the House has its chance to pose its burning queries to the PM directly, live-streamed and televised to the electorate (although its audience is largely the UK’s political nerds/undergraduates).

The theoretical idea behind PMQs, to deepen accountability, is, however, almost non- existent in practice. Amidst uncomfortable times for the government, such as those recently experienced by Prime Minister Starmer, PMQs certainly poses a key challenge to the government's authority. But on the whole, it’s less about scrutiny and more about scoring political points.

A perfect Britain, run by the perfect government, headed by the perfect Prime Minister,

would still be scolded with accusations of indecency, impropriety, and general

'downtroddenness' by the Leader of the Opposition. A hellish Britain, run by an imperfect government, headed by a traitorous Prime Minister, would still defend its actions as proper, moral, and in the best interests of the country. It’s not about reasoned lines of questioning about policy, but instead about providing strong material for the papers.

The issue is – that it’s deeply entertaining. PMQs frequently becomes a schoolyard exchange of insults and catchy one-liners, which is deeply Americanised, and irrevocably erodes ideas of British statesmanship. Unconstructive, yes, but an awfully enjoyable weekly bout of party political entertainment nonetheless.

To illustrate, there have been many a superb moment from across the House during PMQs. Tony Blair’s quip that he leads his Party, while John Major merely followed his, was a Hollywood statement of the former’s intent. Love him or hate him, David Cameron produced several quality PMQs moments, whether it was instructing Jeremy Corbyn to “put on a proper suit, do up your tie, and sing the national anthem”, or telling Ed Balls to go “bye-bye” before calling him a turkey. Liz Truss’ final PMQs was similarly comedic; she loftily declared she was a fighter, and not a quitter, only a day before resigning. So, PMQs is entertaining, but it fails to accomplish its purpose. What can we do about it?

This is a surprisingly complex question to answer. The root cause of the problems plaguing PMQs is not the structure of the event itself, nor even the individuals who partake, but the political culture in which it is contained.

As mentioned earlier, British politics is becoming more Americanised, for better or for worse. The rise of the sound bite, televised debates, and a shift toward marketable, mass-appeal politics has created a culture in which politics is about achieving statistical viewership gains, controlling the narrative, and increasing social media followers. PMQs may be a guilty political pleasure for many, but it is hardly paramount to a constructive policy dialogue, given the impact of all these factors combined. That’s not to say it has never been full of powerful one-liners and spats for the tabloids, but over time, PMQs is increasingly becoming solely that, as its purpose of providing democratic accountability wanes.

PMQs offers straightforward utility. It provides a chance for the House to pose questions to the PM directly, and principally, that is deeply admirable. Changing culture is a difficult task, but perhaps PMQs, which has moved further and further away from its intended purpose, can begin that change. A return to PMQs as a set of serious discussions injected with occasional wit, jokes, and humour – as opposed to wit, jokes, and humour injected with occasional serious discussions – could mark a turning point for the direction of our politics, veering less towards US melodrama, but instead the principles which have underpinned our parliamentary history. Let’s bring back British statesmanship.

That or the PM and Leader of the Opposition can keep squabbling like children on the

playground. It’s not their fault; this is what is expected of them. We should instead change these expectations. PMQs needs to retain its showbiz brilliance while reclaiming its role as an essential part of scrutiny, accountability, and ultimately, democratic functionality. The theatre of Parliament needs to be as much policy as it is performance.

Image: Flickr/House of Commons