The great, the good and the ugly

THE establishment view is that the public rage aimed at two of Westminster’s longest-serving and most respected MPs, Sir Malcolm Rifkind and Jack Straw, this week was unwarranted—a case of anti-politics feeling gone mad. Foolishly entrapped—in a snare a half-blind rabbit could have spotted—the two former foreign secretaries, Sir Malcolm a Conservative, Mr Straw for Labour, were both caught pitching to an undercover television reporter for what they believed was a lucrative opportunity to push the interests of a Chinese company. It was embarrassing; both protested they had broken no law, which may prove to be true. Yet the self-serving establishment view is wrong. Politicians peddling influence for cash is reprehensible, whatever the rules; and in the current, febrile mood, Sir Malcolm and Mr Straw have done serious damage to the system they once served with distinction.

Mr Straw’s case looks the worse of the two. Hitherto a Westminster watchword for probity, the former Blairite star took pains to tell his entrapper he could not consider her putative offer until after his retirement as an MP, in May. Yet by meeting her in his Westminster office, he appeared to break parliamentary rules. More seriously, the lobbying exploits he bragged of—to illustrate the commercial advantages of his operating “under the radar”—appeared to contravene at least the spirit of the law. British MPs may not accept payment for lobbying the government. Mr Straw said he had successfully importuned the European Commission and Ukrainian government—at least once alongside a serving British ambassador—to change their rules on behalf of a commodity trader that pays him £60,000 ($93,000) a year.

By comparison, Sir Malcolm’s performance mostly made him look objectionable. He suggested he would be happy to work for the fictitious Chinese company on the basis that he was “self-employed” and had plenty of “free time”. This was despite the fact that he is paid £67,000 a year by the taxpayer, and was, until this week, chair of Parliament’s ultra-sensitive intelligence and security committee. In a subsequent, regrettably self-righteous, denunciation of his entrappers, he sought to retain these positions; and thereby ensured he lost both. Though one of Westminster’s most stylish performers, Sir Malcolm has long been at arm’s length from the Tory leadership, which gave it plenty of clearance room to swing the axe. He was denied the Tory whip, informed that he would be investigated for the easily proved charge of embarrassing his party, and, taking the hint, announced that he would resign his seat in May. Mr Straw has been suspended by the Labour whip, and must now wait to see whether the peerage he had been counting on will be forthcoming.

The damage this has done was evident in the funereal tones in which both Tory and Labour MPs discussed it. Even the thickest-skinned, most securely seated are worn down by the hostility they encounter daily on the doorstep, and on which the UK Independence Party, Greens and other threatening insurgents are feasting. By seeming to confirm an impression that Westminster is rotten, encouraged by recent scandals including a giant furore over fraudulent MPs’ expenses in 2009, Sir Malcolm and Mr Straw have probably raised the antipathy a notch. If only their political masters, David Cameron, the Tory prime minister, and Labour’s Ed Miliband, could bring themselves to co-operate a bit, they might show how unfair that impression is.

Relatively few MPs earn much from freelancing; only 30 out of 650 double their parliamentary salary, typically through part-time legal work. Otherwise, the opportunity cost of a Westminster career has never been higher. The state’s retreat from the economy and higher standards of accountability have ended the fat sinecures, including seats on state-owned company boards, that once sweetened a life of political service. The propensity of some MPs—typically, as in the current scandal, those approaching retirement—to resort to greasy lobbying illustrates that dwindling of opportunity. It is a form of despair: Mr Rifkind’s financial demands of his Chinese tempter—between £5,000 and £8,000 a day—are well above what most voters earn, but hardly exorbitant for a distinguished former foreign secretary.

Younger, so still ambitious, MPs mostly steer clear of such temptations. Better than their complacent elders, they know the hunger of once-friendly, now rapaciously unforgiving, media for uncovering such abuses. Even demonstrably legitimate outside work runs the risk of a public pillorying. One MP fears he may be earning too much from freelance journalism to escape media censure. Meanwhile, the expenses scandal has put an end to the other tacit means by which British MPs traditionally augmented their low salaries—fiddling a Westminster expense claim would be madness now— even as the professionalising of politics is forcing them to enter Parliament ever younger. The result is that, while working hellish long hours on often meaningless parliamentary work, many are bringing up families—in London, if they want to see their children—on salaries well below what a general practitioner earns. That is not a recipe for the high-quality politicians Britain needs to regain public trust in its democracy.

Men of Straw

The outlines of a solution seem obvious. Britain needs fewer MPs—400 is probably ample—doing more meaningful work, for better pay; a basic salary of around £110,000, or what a head teacher can expect in London, sounds about right. It is also, despite the anti-politics rage, an argument Mr Cameron and Mr Miliband could jointly make. But there is no sign of that. Mr Miliband wants to ban MPs performing the corporate advisory roles that Tory ones are most likely to bag. Mr Cameron, frightened of his backbenchers, demurs. Meanwhile, both furiously reject the modest increments to MPs’ pay that Parliament’s own independent overseers recommend. That is not going to endear them to anyone. It is a beauty contest between drowning men.