A Breath of Scrutiny

Ben Wildsmith

This week’s news that Emma Clatworthy, a Reform UK candidate for Pen-y-bont Bro Morgannwg, had shared anti-vaccination theories alongside fears that the government and monarchy were ‘actors’ and insinuations about the ‘Rothchilds’ is hardly news at all.

It seems like only yesterday that a previous Reform candidate for the constituency, Corey Edwards, had to stand down after a photo of him performing a Nazi salute emerged.

So, another stranger to reason popping up isn’t so much shocking as tedious in a democratic process that is being rapidly debased by the participation of people whose worldview has been formed in online spaces that monetise malign nonsense.

So jaded have we become by stories like these, that the response to them is mechanical. If they emanate from your side of the debate, they are trivial and disingenuous, if from your opponents’, they represent an opportunity to score points.

Emotional reactions to extremist views are as often confected or suppressed as they are genuine. We’re all roped into a performative gameshow, complete with hysterical audience track and manipulative producers. Emma will, no doubt, be called to the diary room to explain herself whilst we make a cuppa and wait for the next episode.

Democracy cannot survive our cultural shift into hyper-reality. As we scroll through cat videos, celebrity gossip, and malcontent neighbours complaining about dog poo, politicians pop up to pitch three-word slogans that just might lodge in our restless consciousness long enough to shift a vote their way.

If this is the medium of persuasion, it’s hardly surprising that the aesthetic appeal of influencers has consigned nuanced discussion to history.

It can seem as if many of those running for political office would just as happily take a gig selling us teeth whitening products, or crypto schemes if it paid enough and raised their profile.

The problem is not so much what our politicians do, as the functions they have ceased to fulfil.

Politics has always bored a large section of the electorate. Family life, work, sport, art, literature, birdwatching, crafting, or religion are all in competition for our time and attention. I’ve left out exotic sexual practices as they are so prevalent in politics as to be part of its cultural offering.

Aside from them, however, the minutiae of policy and political philosophy are things for which most people have little time. Traditionally, the job of politicians was to draw people into their sphere when decisions needed to be made. Most people would grudgingly pay attention to political debate every few years and vote accordingly.

Taboo

Online life, however, has forced politics into our day-to-day. What used to be taboo in social situations like the pub, or my mother’s second wedding (‘Not today, Ben…’), now infects our feeds from the moment we wake up, jumping up and down, waving for us to engage with it.

Every like we send tells the algorithm what holds our attention and, consequently, we are sent more of the same. If you are exercised by Gaza, or immigration, or gender issues, tech companies soon find out and make sure that you see plenty of it.

The role of politicians has changed from explaining the complexities of governance to pandering to the pre-existing obsessions that Facebook or X has cynically nurtured in our increasingly isolated social spheres.

So, much as Emma Clatworthy’s political positions, whether her previous online batshittery, or current espousal of Magic Nigelism, are anathema to me, let’s not pretend that she’s an aberration here.

Sensationalism

Our political discussion has moved into spaces that reward sensationalism alone. Yes, we always had the tabloid version of that warping the debate, but it had to stand alongside other perspectives on the news stand.

Now, any position beyond the infantile, sloganized marketing-speak of social media adepts is invisible; hidden from us by the gatekeepers of information. Candidates immersed in that world can’t withstand a breath of scrutiny.