A few thoughts on Ann Widdecombe

William Hague and Ann Widdecombe at the Conservative Party Conference in Blackpool, 1999.
(Photo: The Guardian)

Like most of you, I did not know Ann Widdecombe personally.

That does not, naturally, prevent me from having views on her political legacy. Indeed, I have many.

When it was first announced that she had died, I considered writing a few words. They would not have constituted a tribute, but nor would they have been disrespectful. It is perfectly possible to assess someone's political career honestly without either descending into abuse or pretending, simply because they have died, that one never profoundly disagreed with them.

I am glad I waited, because it has emerged since that what initially appeared to be merely the death of an elderly former politician is likely to have been a terrible act of violence. If that is indeed what happened, as seems likely, then it should horrify every one of us.

No-one deserves to die like that. No political disagreement, however deep, can justify murder. It should not even need saying, but apparently it does.

And so it has been deeply depressing to see some people celebrating her death online. Quite apart from the cruelty shown towards her family and friends, there is something profoundly corrosive about a society in which the death of another human being becomes an occasion for applause because we happened to dislike their opinions.

If politics becomes a contest in which our opponents cease to be fellow citizens and become enemies whose deaths are to be welcomed, then we have crossed a dangerous line. Social media undoubtedly amplifies this tendency. It rewards outrage, dehumanisation and performative cruelty, encouraging people to say things they would never dream of saying face-to-face. But we should resist the temptation to blame the platforms alone. They merely expose attitudes that already exist. Ultimately, we are responsible for the political culture we create.

Equally troubling has been the speed with which some politicians and commentators sought to make political capital from the circumstances of her death. Before the police investigation had established the facts, motives were confidently asserted, narratives constructed and familiar political arguments rehearsed. All of this took place despite the wishes expressed by Ann's own family.

That is not respect for a former colleague. It is the exploitation of an appalling human tragedy in pursuit of political advantage.

It is important to debate Ann Widdecombe's political legacy. As someone who believed passionately in free speech and robust political argument, I suspect she would have expected - and wanted - nothing less. She never demanded agreement, which is fortunate because she rarely received it outside those who already shared her specific convictions.

From a Liberal Democrat perspective, there is much to criticise. Ann represented a tradition of conservatism that saw individual liberty primarily through the lens of moral order rather than personal autonomy. On issues ranging from criminal justice to immigration, Europe to constitutional reform, we naturally reached very different conclusions.

It was, however, on matters of religion and morality that her views were perhaps most distinctive and most judgmental. 

Ann's sharpest judgements were often reserved not for secular political opponents but for fellow Christians who interpreted their faith differently. Those who were less opposed to abortion rights, same-sex marriage, LGBTQ equality or the ordination of women were frequently dismissed as "cultural Christians" — people who, in her view, had accommodated themselves to modern society at the expense of Christian truth. She could see little value in their Christianity and presented them as somehow less genuine.

That reflected a worldview in which there were clear, objective moral answers, and where disagreement on fundamental questions was not merely mistaken but represented a failure to remain faithful. It was a theological outlook that left relatively little room for sincere disagreement among people equally committed to the Christian faith. For Ann, such people had abandoned authentic Christianity.

She left the Church of England for the Roman Catholic Church following the decision to ordain women as priests, later explaining: "For years I had been disillusioned by the Church of England's compromising on everything. The Catholic Church doesn't care if something is unpopular."

That quotation neatly encapsulates Ann Widdecombe's outlook. Compromise, for her, could never be a virtue. If something was true, popularity was irrelevant. If something was right, accommodation was weakness. And if her views were right, others were necessarily wrong. She was always happy to argue but could rarely bring herself to accommodate the alternative perspective as being equally valid.

Politics undoubtedly needs people with convictions. But politics also requires something else. It requires the ability to persuade, to build coalitions, to recognise that in a plural society people of good faith reach different conclusions, and to translate principles into workable public policy. For a backbench MP, speaking one's mind without compromise can become a defining characteristic. For someone seeking high office, it can become a serious limitation.

Many of the tributes to Ann have praised her as someone who "spoke her mind" and "never compromised", presenting those qualities as self-evidently admirable. Yet those characteristics are not always virtues in government or even in opposition. Sometimes they are liabilities.

Her appointment as shadow Home Secretary in 1999 was not, by itself, responsible for William Hague's defeat. But it was symptomatic of a wider problem. Being tough on crime is a perfectly respectable conservative position. Advocating policies that appeared more rhetorical than realistic risked reinforcing the impression that the Conservatives were not yet a serious government-in-waiting.

In truth, Ann Widdecombe never seemed an entirely comfortable fit within the Conservative Party of John Major, William Hague, Iain Duncan Smith, Michael Howard or David Cameron and she increasingly found herself politically homeless within a party that was itself searching for an identity.. Despite supporting Kenneth Clarke in the leadership contests of both 2001 and 2005, and refusing to serve under Maastricht rebel Iain Duncan Smith, she eventually found a more natural political home in the Brexit Party and later Reform UK. This may have seemed an odd move for someone who, as late as 2014, said "I am a Conservative. I am never going to be anything else … I’d rather form my own party than ever join UKIP" but with hindsight that seemed a better fit for both her instincts and her uncompromising style of politics than the broad church Conservatism within which she had spent most of her parliamentary career.

Eventually Ann came to view the Conservative Party in much the same way as she had come to view the Church of England almost three decades previously. 

Ann was remarkably unconcerned by whether her views were fashionable or popular. She was perfectly willing to express opinions that many regarded as deeply offensive, including her hope that medical science might one day be able to "cure" homosexuality. That is an undeniably homophobic position because it treats being gay as a condition requiring treatment rather than a normal part of human diversity. 

That view was argued against at the time and it should be argued against now. I have little doubt that Ann herself would have defended my right to do so. She believed in saying exactly what she thought, and she understood that others were entitled to respond in kind. 

We should be able to say all of this and I do not apologise for saying it. I am quite sure Ann would not want me to.

We should also be able to condemn violence without qualification, reject those who celebrate it, criticise those who exploit it, and still disagree profoundly with the politics of the person who has died.

A healthy democracy requires all four.