Why our parliament is literally beyond satire

Comedy shows are banned from using Commons footage.

Just last week, I was writing about the relative health of satire in the US and UK and now comes a rather striking example of something the Americans can do and we can't.

It's already a source of chagrin to many lovers of The Daily Show with Jon Stewart that More4 shows only a weekly round-up edition, rather than the four nightly episodes that are produced by the team. But this week, even the "Global Edition" didn't make it on to British TV screens -- and the 4OD webpage lists the online version as being "unavailable".

Blogger Chris Spyrou noticed it and brought it to the attention of the TV writer Graham Linehan, who asked Channel 4 about it. A tweet from Channel 4 Insider -- the broadcaster's official presence on Twitter -- called it "compliance problems".

The full reason, tweeted a short while later, was this: "We are prevented by parliamentary rules from broadcasting parliamentary proceedings in a comedic or satrical context."

The user @fiatpanda later uncovered this response to a Freedom of Information request from Channel 4, which stated:

Guidelines on the use of the pictures are less prescriptive. They do specify that no extracts from parliamentary proceedings may be used in comedy shows or other light entertainment, such as political satire. But broadcasters are allowed to include parliamentary items in magazine programmes containing musical or humourous features, provided the reports are kept separate.

So there you have it. The Americans can make fun of what happens in our parliament but we can't. And, in case you're wondering, I've seen what I assume is the "banned" clip and it's gentle ribbing at most -- and has something important to say about democracy and the accountability of elected officials.

In it, Jon Stewart expresses his admiration for David Cameron "taking on all comers" during the Commons questions on the hacking scandal, in contrast to the rather anaemic questions that American leaders face.

After showing Ed Miliband, Ann Clwyd, Tom Watson and others giving Cameron some tough words, Jon Stewart remarks: "That's awesome! That's your CSPAN? That's f***ing awesome . . . I know how I'd respond to that kind of questioning [he cowers]. I bet the Prime Minister never had a chance!"

The tape then cuts back to the Commons, where Cameron tells the House his opponents were clearly "hoping for some great allegation to add to their fevered conspiracy theories. I'm just disappointed for them that they didn't get one".

After a couple more clips of a bullish PM, Jon Stewart notes: "England is awesome. That guy killed it. Remember when someone yelled "You lie!" at our State of the Union and everyone was like 'What has become of us as a people?' This is the Prime Minister of England, down in the pit, taking on all comers . . . This guy cut short a foreign trip for the privilege of it."

What US politics needs, Stewart concludes, is for Americans to "start drinking some motherf***ing tea and eating some motherf***ing finger sandwiches".

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Helen Lewis is deputy editor of the New Statesman. She has presented BBC Radio 4’s Week in Westminster and is a regular panellist on BBC1’s Sunday Politics.

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Radio as shelter: Grenfell Tower was too frightening to look at

No song seemed to fit the mood on Hayes FM.

“Amidst all this horror, I hope to bring you some light relief. Here’s James Taylor.” Two days after the Grenfell Tower fire, a popular community station a little west of the incident was uncertain what note to strike.

The repeated ads for alarms detecting carbon-monoxide leaks (“this silent killer”) and tips on how to prevent house fires (“Don’t overwhelm your sockets and cause a spark”) sounded perhaps a little overassertive, but then the one for a day-long course focusing on resisting gender stereotyping (“Change the narrative”) felt somewhat out of place. And no song seemed to fit. James Taylor’s “Shower the People” turned out OK, but the Cranberries’ “The Icicle Melts” was unceremoniously faded out mid-flow.

This does often happen on Hayes FM, though. There are times when the playlist is patently restless, embodying that hopeless sensation when you can’t settle and are going through tracks like an unplugged bath – Kate Bush too cringey, T-Rex too camp – everything reminding you of some terrible holiday a couple of years ago. Instead, more ads. Watch your salt intake. Giving up smoking might be a good idea. Further fire safety. (“Attach too many appliances and it could cause an overload and that could cause a fire. Fire kills.”)

Then a weather report during which nobody could quite bring themselves to state the obvious: that the sky was glorious. A bell of blue glass. The morning of the fire – the building still ablaze – I had found three 15-year-old boys, pupils at a Latimer Road school that stayed closed that day because of the chaos, sitting in their uniforms on a bench on the mooring where I live, along the towpath from the tower.

They were listening to the perpetual soft jangle of talk radio as it reported on the situation. “Why the radio?” I asked them, the sight of young people not focused on visuals clearly unusual. “It’s too frightening to look at!” they reasoned.

Radio as shelter. As they listened, one of them turned over in his hand a fragment of the tower’s cladding that he must have picked up in the street on the way over – a sticky-charcoaled hack of sponge, which clung like an insect to his fingers whenever he tried to drop it. 

Antonia Quirke is an author and journalist. She is a presenter on The Film Programme and Pick of the Week (Radio 4) and Film 2015 and The One Show (BBC 1). She writes a column on radio for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 22 June 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The zombie PM

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