Much more spin and there won't be any politics

It's a terrible thing for a newspaper commentator to have to admit. But the truth is, I'm not sure I even know what politics is for any more. People say that the problem with modern politics is "spin". That just confuses me, though. There seems to be nothing left of politics – party politics, anyway – but spin. (Or at least nothing left of politics that gets the media excited.) And, heavens, spin is dispiriting. Spin is eating our souls.

Surely that's what "political apathy" is all about. The term itself is one that is "spun". Some people are apathetic about politics, sure. But many others are disgusted by it, frustrated by it, or repelled by the continual revelation of petty obsessions and mean machinations that have become meat and drink to the "political classes".

Yet while we hear a great deal about political apathy, political disgust is a phenomenon that is rarely acknowledged, let alone tackled. It's clear though, that politicians themselves are disgusted by the febrile little spectacle that has been made of their work. Clare Short is certainly disgusted, as her remarks yesterday to the BBC attest.

Talking in the wake of the nation's latest political scandal, in which the special adviser Dan Corry was exposed as having made inquiries to Labour headquarters about the political backgrounds of the Paddington rail disaster survivors' group, she called for an end to the Government's obsession with presentation. "Do not try to manipulate the media," she warns her party. "You cannot do it anyway."

Never were truer words spoken. Because the funny – nay, hilarious thing – about the entire Byers saga is that all the way down the line it was in large part the minister's lack of ability to spin successfully that made his position untenable. Presumably the idea that he was not up to the job was motivating the many who were determined to unseat him. But somehow, a mature debate of this sort, that might have resulted in some idea about the right way to run a railroad, was not wanted.

Mr Byers was an easy target, not because he was some master of spin, but because he was very far from this. He was not even able to spin himself in the the role of a credible minister to the civil servants in his department, let alone spin the astonishing idea that they should get on with their work and leave the politics to him.

Which was why, when 11 September came, there were people in the department keen to leak Jo Moore's ludicrous, ghastly e-mail to the press. Ms Moore's e-mail may have been a suggestion that press-release history's murkiest depths ought to be plumbed. But its speedy flight into the public domain confirmed nothing except Ms Moore's own inability to understand that she and her boss were surrounded by people who despised their clumsy attempts at spinning and were eager in turn to spin against them, only far, far more successfully.

The same pattern has been repeated with the leaked e-mails that Dan Corry sent. Much has been made of the allegation that Mr Corry wanted to "dig the dirt" on heroic burns victim Pam Warren. Actually, what Mr Corry wanted to know was whether any of the Paddington group, particularly Martin Minns, had links with the Conservative Party.

Mr Minns, it turns out, has spent much of his working life doing PR for the Conservatives. It seems to me that rather than "spinning", Mr Corry was just acting on a hunch, and trying to establish whether a prominent transport pressure group might not itself be above indulging in political spin. The members of the group, if you ask me, have proved themselves in the last few days to be consummate spinners, while the Government has once again failed dismally to make the smallest dent in the momentum of the spinning frenzy.

Now Alastair Campbell has pledged that "the Government must and will learn lessons from this affair". He doesn't say what these lessons might be. But one thing is certain. They cannot be positive ones. If anything, this latest barrage of largely unjustified criticism will convince Labour the unvarnished truth is the last thing anyone is interested in publicising, and that somehow they must carry on with the impossible, self-destructive task of harnessing spin in their favour. This is how we all evolved such a lamentable political culture in the first place. We really do get the government we deserve, and the government we deserve is getting less and less effective.

After all, it is fairly obvious that much of the Government's control-freakery stems from its paranoia. This affair has surely confirmed to it that the paranoia is justified. Everyone – the public, the media, the civil service, the pressure group – has been out to get the Government on this story, more than willing to believe the worst, startlingly unconcerned with weighing up the situation and getting to the truth.

Even now, the clamour is all about wringing a personal apology from the Prime Minister. If all this teaches the government to be less defensive, then I'll eat my i-Book.

Lesson number one is pretty obviously that e-mail should only be used for the most anodyne of communications, because while eavesdroppers are told never to expect to hear anything good of themselves, computer hackers can inflate the smallest hint of suspicion (even if it is perfectly justified) into a vast conspiracy against the whole notion of civilised behaviour, without their own motivations or morals being examined by anyone.

Lesson number two must surely be that victimhood confers sainthood, and that even if someone associated with a tragic event appears to be milking it for political ends, their impartial integrity can never, never be questioned. Since this is an impossible situation under which to conduct a political dialogue, the only useful lesson must be for ministers to steer clear of doing anything other than listening politely to emotive pressure groups, then saying thankyou when the petition gets handed over. (This would actually be a damn useful lesson. But in the current climate, in which only the personal seems to have a dispensation to be political, it would not be popular at all.)

Lesson number three must be that in a world where everyone spins as a matter of course, only elected politicians, when they are in power, are not allowed to spin. Which brings us back to the beginning. Since much of politics is basically about talking up your party's achievements and talking down its failures, politicians spin every time they open their mouths. Our elected representatives must therefore keep their mouths shut from now on, and instead have their achievements reported only by independent assessors.

So there we are. We have definitely taught our politicians and their creatures a few useful lessons this time.

One is that politicians should think twice before attempting to take advantage of the latest advances in technology.

Another is that engagement with those who feel themselves to have suffered at the hands of government policy is too freighted with emotionalism and victim identification to be attempted.

The third is that explaining one's actions on behalf of the electorate is too perilous to be undertaken, because all political bias is now suspect, as all political bias is spin.

Still, at least when all this is achieved, we'll have solved the problem of political apathy. The apathy will still be there. It's the politics that will have vanished.

d.orr@independent.co.uk