2021x18, Monday: Your right to say it.

He was my MP.

And someone murdered him.

I can’t claim any special connection to Sir David Amess. I never voted for him. I didn’t agree with much of his politics, if any. I never met him. I was lucky enough never to need his help.

But he was my MP. And that’s important.

Because someone - honestly, it doesn’t matter who at this point - thought it was OK to stab him. To kill him. To take him away from his family. From his constituents.

I wish his family succour in their grief. I wish Sir David eternal rest and peace. He was a lifelong and dedicated Catholic, so I have no doubt that he had faith his end here on this Earth wouldn’t be the last word. And I pray that he was right.

But it’s his constituents I want to focus on. And only very slightly because I’m one of them. There are 650 MPs in the UK. And the majority of them aren’t ministers or shadow ministers. They might serve on a committee or two. But most see their first job as representing their constituency. Critically: most have it as an article of faith that they’re there not just to represent, but to serve, everyone in that constituency: those who voted for them, and those who never would, alike.

Everything I’ve heard says Sir David was just one such public servant. He seems never to have sought a government post, or to have been at all interested in one. Instead, everyone who’s encountered him - from local businesses and charities to people who needed his voice to speak for them when officialdom was flexing its muscles - seems to have found him absolutely committed to this place in which I live, and (perhaps more importantly) to each person in it.

(Reading this as I write, I recognise that “we can’t break the link with constituents” is an argument often deployed against moving away from first-past-the-post. And I agree: that link is critical. But pure FPTP isn’t the only way that link can be maintained. STV is one way. There are others. And the warping effect of FPTP, leaving many people near-permanently disenfranchised, may contribute to the despair about politics, and the encouragement of division between voters, which I'm abhorring here.)

And that’s the point. Sir David didn’t engage in “othering” any of his constituents. I doubt - from what I’ve heard - that he would have done so to those with whom he strenuously disagreed politically either. I’m sure he had faults. But I suspect that wasn’t one of them.

But consider how many of his colleagues on all sides of politics don’t do that. Who talk of traitors. Enemies of the people. Scum. Who seek to embed and exploit division. Who look for scapegoats, a “them” whose fault it can be. Whatever “it” happens to be today.

This sets a tone. No-one’s responsible for Sir David’s death other than the person whose hand held the knife. But we’re all accountable for the context in which such atrocities happen. In which MPs routinely face multiple threats of death and violence each week - the more so if they’re anything other than a white male.

Don’t get me wrong. I want us to disagree. Strenuously. No kumbaya here, please. I want us to argue. To debate. To be able to say someone’s ideas are wrong, or harmful, or counterproductive. (And to make the case; not just to say “I’ve a right to my opinion” - because an opinion without a foundation is sometimes little more than a prejudice.)

And on occasion - if (and only if) merited - to challenge the motivation behind the ideas as well.

But rarely. Instead, play the ball. Not the person. Most of the time, if someone thinks differently from you, that says nothing about the content of their character. Don’t ever assume that without evidence.

Apparently Voltaire never actually said that while he disagreed with what someone said, he’d “defend to the death your right to say it”. It’s a misattribution - although many judge it an accurate distillation of Voltaire’s views.

I believe Sir David would have agreed with the sentiment. I believe the best honour we can pay him, a servant of the public to the end, is to strive to live by it.