Politicians and journalists are in a conspiracy against the public

The universal predicament which confronts the western world at the start of the 21st century concerns the breakdown of boundaries. Philosophers blur the distinction between good and evil; society no longer protects family life; sociologists applaud the collapse of class barriers; globalisation challenges national borders; postmodernism asserts that truth and falsehood are the same. The act of adultery, with its savage betrayal of marriage, is the most accessible metaphor for our sorrowful modern predicament.

At Westminster, as elsewhere, we suffer from transgression of boundaries. There are numerous examples of this in contemporary politics. One of the most curious is the collapse of the dividing line between politician and journalist. Go back just 50 years and you find that the limits between the political and media classes were zealously guarded. We journalists reported events from the press gallery, but never mingled with the protagonists down below. It was sometimes the task of Gerald Herlihy, political correspondent of the Daily Graphic, to arrange lunches on behalf of Lady Kemsley, his proprietor’s wife. But he never attended them.

That kind of relationship between reporters and MPs may strike modern observers as embarrassingly deferential. But the beauty of the connection was its distance. Today politicians and correspondents are hugger-mugger: they dine together, conspire together, in some instances go on holiday together. The arrangement, of course, brings compelling advantages for both parties. For the journalist there is access, and stories delivered on a plate. The politician is buying protection. He calculates that, in return for the access and favours, the difficult questions will never get asked. Both parties are taking part in a conspiracy against the public. The system produces a knowing, deceitful press and scheming, manipulative politicians: the kind of arrangement we have today.