Legalising same-sex marriages is conservative, not liberal

It's time for the Conservatives to say the decision to legalise same-sex marriage is motivated by co

In Birmingham, Liberal Democrat MPs and senior advisers were nodding to journalists that legalising same-sex marriages was a Lib Dem victory against archaic Tories. But it's very important for the Conservatives to claim ownership of this welcome policy, for philosophical and political reasons.

Growing cultural liberalism has certainly helped bring this about, but the logic for extending marriage to same-sex couples is not in fact liberal.
Liberals believe in the autonomy of individuals to conduct their lives free from external constraint so long as they do not undermine the rights of others. So the state should be morally neutral. When it comes to marriage, therefore, liberals argue that the state is not being neutral when it only grants the title of marriage, and the benefits that come with it, to heterosexual couples.

But this new policy is not extending those privileges to everyone. Consensual polygamous partnerships, for instance, are not being allowed to marry. A truly liberal position would be that the state does not sanction marriage at all as the benefits from it discriminate against those who do not marry.

The real reason why marriage is being extended to gay couples is because government - shaped by the changing attitudes of the public - now believes same-sex couples are worthy, that they fulfil the purpose of marriage and deserve marriage's associated benefits. This is Aristotelian, not liberal, logic.

This is why the policy is more conservative than liberal. First, Conservatives more strongly believe that justice depends on what individuals deserve. Many liberals, notably John Rawls, believe that moral desert cannot be the grounds for determining the just allocation of titles and resources.
Second, Conservatives, unlike liberals, are sceptical of introducing new rights based on abstract arguments: they prefer to grant rights and implement change based on the evolution of public opinion, to ensure support for and the stability of government, which is what this policy amounts to. So it's time for the Conservatives to say the decision to legalise same-sex marriage is motivated by conservative thinking.

This is important politically too. Recent analysis showed that the Conservatives failed to secure a majority at the last election because they did not convince floater voters the party shared their values. An increasingly liberal-minded electorate need reassurance that the party is in touch with modern Britain, not reluctantly dragged into the twenty-first century by Liberal Democrats.

Cameron, of course, knows this. Hence why Downing Street told the press, despite the Liberal Democrat Equalities Minister formally announcing it, that the PM had "personally intervened" to introduce the policy consultation. Expect more noises from Cameron on this in the weeks ahead, especially to counterbalance more traditional message he is likely to trumpet at the forthcoming Conservative Party Conference.

Ryan Shorthouse is a spokesman for Bright Blue

Ryan Shorthouse is the Director of Bright Blue, a think tank for liberal conservativism 

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The good, the bad and the ugly: behind the scenes of the Brexit broadcasts

Nothing feels more artificial than doing live television, and last weekend was even stranger than usual.

Nothing feels more artificial than doing live television. You sit there, isolated from the rest of the news, hair full of Elnett and face caked in something approaching yacht varnish. Then you’re expected to chat away with an anchor as if you were old mates under dazzling white lights, while seven crew members stand around watching you. Worse, everything has irony baked into it: TV now happens in the lively expectation that it will be instantly giffed, memed and stripped for parts on Twitter. It’s like eating a pre-chewed meal.

We live in such a media-literate culture that politics has the same sense of déjà vu. Its tropes are so familiar from TV programmes about politics that living through them in real-time 3D feels profoundly dissociative. You feel lost in the meta. I once asked a researcher what election night was like. “The only way in which it wasn’t like The Thick of It is that on The Thick of It no one runs around saying, ‘Oh, my God, this is just like The Thick of It!’”

Two days after the Brexit result, I went to College Green in Westminster to record a live version of BBC1’s Sunday Politics. The atmosphere on the muddy lawn, tramped by a thousand assistant producers, was suffused with overwrought importance and high absurdity. Spread out across the grass were tents – “Why don’t you sit in the news gazebo?” a producer told me – from which shell-shocked generals would occasionally emerge, ashen-faced, fresh from rallying the troops through an interview with Radio 5 Live. All it was missing were pillars of smoke, the whump of artillery and a man in a Hawaiian shirt with a cigar. Instead, we had a new shadow cabinet resignation every time we went off air for ten minutes.

That pandemonium compensated for referendum night, when all the channels were at their most sober. Inevitably, David Dimbleby was presiding over a stately galleon of a BBC show, on which things were so serious that Jeremy Vine wasn’t even allowed to dress up as a bendy banana. Over on ITV, Tom Bradby was doing his matinee idol thing (he always looks like someone playing a charming rotter in a detective drama)while Sky News had trapped Kay Burley at a series of parties where she couldn’t make anyone cry. It all reeked of gravitas.

Not so, the rest of the referendum telly. Take The Great Debate at Wembley, which BBC1 screened two nights before the vote. You know, the one that ended with Boris Johnson’s soulful invocation of “Independence Day” (never mind that many countries have an independence day and usually they’re celebrating independence from us). Between speeches from the main panel, led by Johnson and Ruth Davidson, the cameras flicked over to a second panel of people perched on those boy-band-doing-a-ballad high stools. For a moment, I thought that some form of panel Inception had occurred and there would be an infinite regression of panels, each marginally less famous than the last. In the best tradition of light entertainment, possibly the next one would have featured children who looked like Tim Farron and Priti Patel, offering faux-naive zingers.

The contest for the most surreal offering ended in a dead heat. The night before the vote, Channel 4 locked Jeremy Paxman in a room with an extraordinary collection of politicians and random Nineties celebrities. (Biggest surprise of the campaign: Peter Stringfellow is for Remain.) To put it in perspective, this was a show that Nigel Farage the attention vampire blew off. Poor old Paxman isn’t used to coping with luvvies. I thought he might throttle Sandie Shaw when he asked her about security and she started talking about “spiritism”. Someone with a cruel sense of humour should give Paxo a fluffy talk show. “TELL ME A BETTER SELF-DEPRECATING ANECDOTE FROM THE SET,” he’d thunder at Hugh Jackman. “AND BE QUICK ABOUT IT.”

The joint-weirdest bit of EU telly was ­Jeremy Corbyn’s appearance on Channel 4’s The Last Leg, a show for which the pitch was surely “Top Gear but for sports”. He turned up in a white fur coat and a Bentley for the opening gag, confessed to feeling “seven and a half out of ten” about the EU and essayed a similarly nuanced answer about whether he’d rather have a knob for a nose or a nose for a knob. “You’re really stuck on this whole binary choice thing,” he said, gnomically. Then Russell Crowe turned up to exude his usual low-level petulant menace, crushing any possibility of fun.

Having watched a huge amount of television over the campaign, I have come to five conclusions: 1) our prosperity is assured if we can patent whatever David Dimbleby’s bladder is made out of; 2) no man has ever looked sadder in victory than Michael Gove on Friday morning; 3) Ruth Davidson, Sadiq Khan and Anna Soubry should get more TV bookings; 4) the Leave campaign had so many versions of the same middle-aged, bald, white man that I began to wonder if it was a trick, like three kids in a long coat; 5) Versailles on BBC2 – full of frocks and fireplaces and men with hair like Kate Middleton – is the only thing that kept me sane.

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.

This article first appeared in the 30 June 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The Brexit lies