WHAT'S the difference between stand-up comedy and politics? Both attract egotists, both require hides as thick as Lily Savage's foundation and both depend to a degree on quickness of wit. But while stand-up comedians seek out laughter and bask in it
, like lizards chasing sunshine, when we politicians provoke laughter it's like being a vampire caught in sunlight: we shrivel up and die.
And so when I discovered that I was appearing on BBC's Question Time from Fort William this week, on the same panel as Hardeep Singh Kohli, I felt like Count Dracula on hearing the dawn chorus. My fate was sealed. Not only would my fellow Scotland on Sunday columnist emerge as the star of the show, I, along with the other politicians on the panel, would inevitably fall victim to his quick wit, scorched to death by cynicism.
As it turned out Hardeep was undoubtedly the star, coiner of the best lines and recipient of the largest number of flirty text messages from unattached female politics junkies. But while Hardeep got the audience laughing, it wasn't at politicians. No, what was striking was how he mobilised a sense of hope in politics among the audience. Instead of cynicism there was idealism, rather bruised and wary, yes, but still persistent and curiously hopeful.
The very first question was on the economy, and appeared on the surface to be a call to arms against the Government for getting us into our current mess. Labour's position was defended skilfully by Lord Falconer, and while he didn't get the audience cheering, he didn't inspire any snorts of derision or rumbles of anger either. It fell to me to reply next and I laid out, as best I could, where I felt the Government had gone wrong. I had an embarrassment of material, which I shan't rehearse here, pointing out the follies and failures of Brown's economic policy which had led us to the position where the IMF concluded we were the worse placed of any developed economy to weather the recession.
Given the strength of the material, I thought the audience would use my case for the prosecution as an opportunity to vent their frustration and anger with the Government. But the response was exceptionally restrained. The audience didn't appear to bridle at my logic, certainly, but nor did they use it as an opportunity to demand blood.
And it was at this point that the special skill that the best politicians and stand-ups have came into play. Reading an audience, responding to its mood and temper, tailoring your message so that, while it is never twisted, it still fits the moment perfectly, is both an art and an instinct. And Hardeep showed both verbal artistry and instinctive emotional intelligence when he came to answer next.
He had sensed, perfectly, that the audience wasn't in the mood for a political blame game. It had its views on where responsibility lay for this crisis, but it wanted politicians to work together now, to be constructive in their approach to the present economic dangers. He made the case for co-operation with a passion which showed he meant it. He spoke with a cogency which sprang from a distaste for any sort of tribalism, but the argument really resonated because it gave the audience what it hadn't yet heard – the expression of hope that things could get better. And while he was outclassing the two politicians who'd just spoken he was also paying us a compliment – come on lads, you're the people who can get us out of this mess, don't get distracted now.
I know some will say it's always easy for a panellist to play to the gallery by trying the "can't we all be friends?" line, but on the previous week's Question Time a similar appeal for solidarity among parties in the fight against the recession was coolly received, and a straightforward demand that we have an election now to punish the people who led us to into disaster hit the audience's sweet spot. The unpredictability of audience reaction is what gives live performance its edge.
And that's as true for politicians as it is for any actor. When Neil Kinnock issued his historic denunciation of Militant, he drew electric energy from the crackling hostility of one section of his audience. When Barack Obama was on the campaign trail, his words took flight on the warm currents of his audience's acclamation.
It's a long way from the Iowa caucuses to the Nevis Centre in Fort William, but the audience mood on Thursday was, like America's, impatient for change. Specifically, the audience wanted a new, serious, collaborative approach to politics which measured up to the scale of our problems. And if I got it wrong with my response to the first question then several other politicians also got it wrong this week in their response to our recession challenges. Iain Gray, Tavish Scott and Patrick Harvie all misjudged the mood of the nation when they tried to squeeze an extra ounce of partisan advantage out of the Scottish Budget. Gordon Brown continually fails to recognise that his refusal to acknowledge any responsibility for our mess only makes him look petty, not consistent. There has to be a problem with your moral compass if it always points at someone else. Of course politicians will disagree but now is not the time to search for ever deeper dividing lines.
It is at times as serious as those we face now that comedy teaches us something indispensable – finding the bond that connects, the insights we all share, the sentiments we hold in common – is the key to making not just jokes, but politics, work.
Michael Gove is the Shadow Secretary of State for Children, Schools and Families
The full article contains 992 words and appears in Scotland On Sunday newspaper.
