When “debating” on TV or radio, caring about the issue at hand is a handicap \u2013 because if you care, your opponent can make you angry, and if you get angry, you\u2019ve lost.<\/i><\/p>\n
The producer knocked her fists together in the dark backstage. \u201cWe want you to, you know . . .\u201d She made the motion again, smiling sweetly, as my hired nemesis and I were strapped into radio microphones for a five-minute debate on the evening news. It was clear what she meant. She wanted us to scrap. She didn\u2019t want us to talk sensibly and work out our differences. She wanted blood on the floor.<\/p>\n
Do we really debate issues any more, or do we just shout at each other from opposing trenches? That day, the topic I and a young lawyer from Spiked <\/i>magazine were debating was internet trolling. It struck me as ironic: the definition of trolling, after all, is saying something shocking simply to wound or to provoke somebody else to outrage. On that basis, the British commentariat has operated an economy of trolling for many years.<\/p>\n
This is what producers believe makes good radio and television today: for five to seven minutes, you are placed opposite a person who has been determined to have a point of view opposed to yours and you are expected to slug it out. Anything goes, apart from swearing, libel or subtlety. This is, in essence, boxing for people who were bad at PE. Ding-ding, and they\u2019re off.<\/i><\/p>\n
There are many wonderful things about British journalism and this is in no way one of them. Our adversarial tradition, which the writer Graham Linehan has described as \u201can arena where there are no positions possible except for diametrically opposed ones, where nuance is not permitted\u201d, is not for the faint of spirit. It turns the national conver – sation into a bearpit where talking heads tear chunks out of each other for fame and money; and not even for a lot of fame and money. In the gladiatorial arena of public discourse, what matters isn\u2019t whether you\u2019re right or wrong so much as how hard you can hammer the other guy. And it usually is a guy.<\/p>\n
I\u2019ve been appearing on television and radio for four years and I\u2019m often lucky enough to be asked to speak on issues I care about deeply, from women\u2019s rights to welfare reform, to whether it\u2019s acceptable for a police officer to beat a man to death for picking the wrong route home across a protest line. It was a long time before I realised that caring about the issue at hand is a handicap \u2013 because if you care, your opponent can make you angry, and if you get angry, you\u2019ve lost. It\u2019s because I care about the issues that I still go on when I\u2019m asked \u2013 but I\u2019m increasingly suspicious of the format.<\/p>\n
One of the main problems is that the \u00fcber<\/i>-adversarial system makes a small crosssection of professional right-wing trolls, however venomous, look as if they represent a significant part of public consensus. I was recently invited on to Sunday Politics<\/i> to argue about welfare reform with a Tory MP who appeared to have little or no idea what his party\u2019s policies practically entailed. The challenge wasn\u2019t so much defeating his straw arguments about who did or did not deserve to be homeless as to sit there pretending those arguments deserved airtime. The trouble is everybody looks a little bit more reasonable, moderate and official when they\u2019re wearing a suit on the news.<\/p>\n
To call the puerile point-scoring that constitutes most political content on British airwaves \u201cdebate\u201d is disingenuous. This is not debate, except in the way that two toddlers debate over one lollipop. The word \u201cdebate\u201d implies the ultimate goal is to learn something or at least to determine a way forward, rather than to produce the sort of dramatic shouting match that makes headlines and drives traffic to websites desperate for hits.<\/p>\n
Since the British commentariat migrated to social media, this stage-managed spleencockery can now go on indefinitely, in forums that permit no nuance and no more than 140 characters. Twitter has allowed the British penchant for invective and empty posturing to come into its own, and the torrent of mockery and abuse that has followed is not solely the province of internet trolls. It\u2019s a tradition that goes all the way up to the Commons: many of the most gifted anonymous bile-delivery boys on Twitter would be right at home on the front benches at Prime Minister\u2019s Questions, given the chance.<\/p>\n
My least favourite part of any TV debate is the moment you step off the shiny set and back into the real world, when you have to make friendly small talk with the person you were \u201cdebating\u201d, as sound engineers go through the delicate process of removing the radio microphones without ransacking your underwear. It goes beyond professional politeness to an exchange of secret smiles, an understanding that we may pretend to hate each other on screen, but we\u2019re all friends really, when the cameras are off. We\u2019re part of the same media elite, we run in the same circles and we\u2019re playing the same game.<\/p>\n
Having played that game for four years, I believe the losers are all the viewers, all the listeners and all the readers who have to put up with talking heads howling emptily at each other over a void of banal chatter and with being told that this constitutes constructive public discourse and fair representation of a range of opinions.<\/p>\n
There is, of course, a place for rhetoric, for flair and for the adversarial approach. I\u2019m a big fan of engaging constructively, but sometimes you find yourself sitting across from an unmitigated bastard with an expensive tie and the compunction of a ham sandwich, and in those situations you can only do your best to serve him his backside for breakfast, or get served yourself. In most other circumstances, however, far more good would be done if experts, opinionators and maybe even a few ordinary people were allowed to talk about the issues rather than having people scream at each other until someone surrenders. Because the truth about the blood on the floor of the arena is that it\u2019s meant to distract us from real politics.<\/p>\n
_______________________<\/p>\n
Laurie Penny is the contributing editor of the New Statesman.<\/i><\/p>\n