I do not know Maria Miller. I have no special regard for her, beyond the
(rather significant) role she played in the passage of the legislation
introducing same-sex marriage. She took
a lot of flak over this - rather bravely, I thought; and an acknowledgment of
this was perhaps partly behind David Cameron’s initial decision not to ditch
her when the press campaign to force him to do so got going. Gay marriage was his baby; and he knew that
Mrs Miller had borne much of the heat of the battle to secure it on his
behalf. For those with ears to hear, his reply to her letter of resignation goes beyond the usual formulaic expression
of regret.
Otherwise I have no view on the case,
beyond the commonplace observation that those in high places do well to ensure their
affairs are in order. In our unforgiving
public square, ignominy awaits the careless.
And what ignominy it was in this case. There was a near as we ever get to a
concerted campaign to force her out. “One of David Cameron's more decent instincts”, wrote Polly Toynbee, not
usually one of his milder critics, in the Guardian,
“is to protect his team from the wolves.”
Well he had a good go; but in the end even he
could not withstand the blistering heat of the attack. Which incidentally featured a huge banner,
sponsored by the Sun and held aloft
outside Parliament, depicting a millipede with Miller’s face and bearing the
legend: “Time To Quit Miller. Just Thought We’d Flag That Up”. Classy stuff.
Anyway, quit she (eventually) did, and
honour was satisfied. Well, if it was
not exactly honour, it was perhaps our own peculiarly British variety of schadenfreude, which delights in seeing
wrongdoers – especially prominent ones - brought down and punished. I was reminded of nothing so much as of accounts of how, in the 18th century, crowds with drinks and snacks
would gather outside Newgate prison, so that on the eighth strike of St Sepulchre’s
clock, they could enjoy a good hanging (or two).
Perhaps there is something in our makeup that relishes public humiliation.
And our proxy in all this is, of course,
the press – on the future regulation (or not) of which Maria Miller was working
at the time of her demise. We leave the
papers to do the self-righteousness, name-calling, and crude vindictiveness for
us, since they exist to speak truth to power and celebrity in ways that we
cannot and would not. And when they go
too far (and they cannot easily restrain themselves), we can back off, and
claim they are not doing it in our name.
But we know they are pandering to our baser instincts; and when our
pleasure over the latest downfall or humiliation has subsided, we sense that we
have colluded in something not very noble.
That may lie behind the entirely proper, yet unexpectedly fulsome, joy
with which Nigel Evans MP’s acquittal on sex charges was greeted the day after
Miller’s resignation. When we know we
have been complicit in bringing someone down, we unconsciously compensate by
raising another up. I suspect the
anti-Leveson libertarians overlook the subtle moral game the British play with
their press, and that ultimately, we will consent to its regulation.
Since this is my first post for a long
time, I hope I may be permitted a theological reflection. The gospel reading for Passion Sunday this
year was the account of the raising of Lazarus. The
passage features the famous verse “Jesus wept.” (John 11:35). It is sometimes assumed that Jesus wept over
the death of his friend; yet he had already in
absentia announced Lazarus’ death and predicted that he would rise again to
glorify God. When he reaches the tomb in
which Lazarus’ body lies, and sees Mary (Lazarus’ sister) there weeping, he is
“greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved” (NRSV). He is moved not by Lazarus’ death, but by
Mary’s distress. Jesus – true God and
true man – shows that, to be moved by another’s distress, is both deeply Godlike
and deeply human. It is a profound
expression of the love of neighbour to which he repeatedly calls us.
I am delighted for Nigel Evans: I cannot
imagine what life has been like for him over the last year, and I give thanks
that his Christian faith seems to have sustained him. But I am also sorry for Maria Miller who is,
for all I know, a perfectly nice person and perhaps not incorrigibly wicked. In any case, her demise and probable distress
isn’t doing a thing to cheer me up.
