A crowded, noisy Commons didn’t help Boris Johnson after all

It was a shock to enter the press gallery of the House of Commons on Wednesday and to look down on a full chamber. For the first time in 17 months, the rules on social distancing had been lifted. MPs weren’t exactly packed into the benches: most of them were sitting close to each other but not touching. Even so, the house was crowded and noisy – something which Conservative MPs, in particular, have been eager to return to.

There has been a lot of commentary about how Boris Johnson was also keen to have the government benches filled with vocal supporters, who would make it harder for Keir Starmer to do his hushed courtroom act.

But things turned out rather differently on Wednesday. When the prime minister started to make his statement about the withdrawal from Afghanistan, MPs on both sides of the house, but especially on Johnson’s own side, stood up to try to interrupt him with critical questions.

When that happens – and it hasn’t happened since March 2020 – the MP at the despatch box has two options. One is to give way and to take as many interventions as possible, and the other is to carry on making a speech against a rising tide of barracking and attempts to intervene.

Johnson chose the first course, thinking that this would show that he was confident of his position and would be able to deal with what was thrown at him. Instead, he gave the impression of confusion and defensiveness, unable to give a clear account of government policy.

Although he was joined on the front bench by many cabinet members – notably not including Rishi Sunak, the chancellor, however – Johnson seemed surprisingly alone. He looked like a punchbag who had agreed to be shouted at for two hours by an angry assembly to make MPs feel better.

It was not a comfortable experience for him, but it was a good reminder that a noisy and crowded House of Commons is essential to democratic accountability. If he had made his statement to a socially distanced chamber, and if it had been followed by sanctimonious speeches read out via video links, it would have lacked the power of real democratic argument.

As it was, the debate had the three unities of classical tragedy: of action, time and place. Not to mention suspense, because the speaker had not published the list of MPs who would be called to speak in advance – an innovation of the pandemic, that allowed MPs time to get themselves into the socially distanced chamber or to get Zoom set up.

But going back to the pre-pandemic ways didn’t help the prime minister after all. Instead, it exposed his humiliation – by the Taliban, by the US president, and by his own party – all the more effectively.

Yours,

John Rentoul

Chief political commentator