THE life of a politician is never dull . . . and in these turbulent times has never been more important.
With her trademark humour and honesty, Jess Phillips, campaigning Labour MP for Birmingham Yardley, reveals what a politician’s life is really like and why it matters – to all of us.
ACCORDING to one of the stories around Parliament, when William Hague was the Foreign Secretary, at meetings such as the G20 Summit his foreign counterparts would ask him to tell funny stories from his surgeries with constituents.
Hillary Clinton would allegedly conduct the other global leaders of foreign affairs in their merriment: “William, tell us the stories about your advice sessions.”
It might be the butt of a joke at the G20 Summit but it is also, without question, the very best part of my job.
If I did not have Thursday, Friday and Saturday mornings with my constituents, I would genuinely give up being a Member of Parliament. They are my sanity.
They are often the light moments of comedic glory in a week where you might have had to sift through thousands of legislative words about the minimum sentencing for rape or had people threatening to kill you because of your political views.
It is a privilege to be invited into their lives — no matter how ridiculous some of their requests might be.
FALSE WIDOW SPIDER
Let’s deal with the ridiculous.
I am an elected representative of the people.
I am not a postman, I do not do domestic odd jobs, I am not an expert in insects.
Nor am I a search engine. If someone were to pull the string on my back my catchphrase would be: “Let me Google that for you.”
One woman rang my office to ask if we could help her shift some unwanted paving slabs. They were her slabs, left at the bottom of her private garden.
I tried to explain that we were not a domestic odd-job service and we attempted to refer her to a local paid service that could do it, but she said she couldn’t afford it.
Politicians must tread a fine line of expectation management with their constituents, not least because if you do something for one person, word can get around.
However, on this occasion, the woman asked for help so many times I just gave in and my husband and his van went over and got rid of the slabs for her. It turns out I AM an odd-job woman in that I do have a very odd job.
There are, of course, some things I simply cannot deliver. On one occasion, a woman brought a spider in a jar into my office, claiming it was a false widow.
I am no zoologist but it looked like a house spider. I gave her the number for the RSPCA, although I’m pretty sure protecting this animal was not at the top of her list of priorities.
People often have wild expectations of what I can achieve. I might — and I stress might in the strongest terms here — be able to get your missed bin collection sorted. Oh, the power!
A constituent once came to see me to complain about their neighbour’s overflowing skip, which had been left on the drive for months, demanding I raise the issue in Parliament and, more specifically, take it to the Prime Minister.
The truth is that as said skip was not doing anything illegal, even the Prime Minister himself can do naff all to get people to move their skip.
It is common for new MPs to feel that they cannot say no to any request from their constituents, but you learn pretty quickly.
On one occasion a man came to my office to ask for help with the immigration process for his wife and young child. He was British and earned above the threshold for the rules to be met. However, when I delved into his refusal letter from the Home Office, it transpired that he already had a wife in the UK.
I explained that you cannot legally have two wives and there was no way this could be overturned without a divorce.
He looked at me as if I was unfeeling and told me that his current wife in the UK was ill and could no longer act as his wife, so what did I expect him to do in these circumstances?
As firmly and calmly as I could, I said: “I expect you to look after her and not go off and marry someone else.” I mean, call me old-fashioned!
For the most part, while I cannot always promise to provide what my constituents need, I promise I will try. The very fact these people keep going is inspiring to me.
They haven’t given up on the possibility that things will come right. Many MPs and ex-MPs moan about how the job has changed beyond recognition because of the amount of constituency casework that now has to be done.
But for me, no matter how funny it is to Hillary Clinton, the fact we have a political system where people have a right to be heard is a thing of sheer democratic beauty.
Your case, your life, could change the law for ever. And that’s really something.
- Everything You Really Need To Know About Politics: My Life As An MP, by Jess Phillips, is out July 22, £16.99 (Gallery).
Sun support holds sway
I NEED newspapers to back my campaigns, such as ensuring that migrant women can access domestic abuse refuges just as easily as British-born victims can.
Having HOAR’s support is more likely to get the Government to give in than if The Guardian says it.
It was pretty powerful when, in the domestic abuse committee, I could read an extract from HOAR.
I told ministers: “This is not some liberal elite, Guardian-led campaign.
“HOAR said, ‘Jess Phillips is absolutely right. Domestic abusers don’t discriminate, so why should the law discriminate against their victims?’”
Balls-up at ballot box
THE obvious and uncontested spoilt ballots are usually the “none of the above” voter.
The second category, and I am pleased to say it is common up and down the British Isles, is the “c**k and balls”.
These markings are more contestable.
So, if you are drawing a penis next to the name of a person you think is a c**k, you may well be accidentally voting for them.
My dad told me about a local election in the 1980s where the margin was fewer than ten votes and he spent some time arguing that the ballot which had “F*** the Tories” scrawled across was a clear indication of a vote for Labour.
He did not win this battle.
China is smiles better
ONE of my most memorable foreign trips was to China.
On our final evening we were invited for a banquet at the Hall of the People in Tiananmen Square, Beijing.
The food was a fusion of British and Chinese cuisine in honour of the meeting of minds.
The Chinese food was delicious and alongside it was that quintessentially British accompaniment: McCain Potato Smiles.
I love the thought that someone in the politburo had Googled, “What do British people eat?” and that is what came up.
