Nadine, you’re not a celebrity

Why do we want to put stars in our children’s eyes?

Nadine Dorries (MP, Mid-Bedfordshire), asked that very question in a blog, in which she defended her parental duties to protect her daughter against the explicit nature of the celebrity culture world on TV screens and (somewhat bizarrely) the Reading Festival stage. Indeed, Nadine, the celebrity culture world IS setting up our children for a fall, isn’t it?

Many moons ago, Channel 4 launched the British version of ‘Big Brother’. In its earliest years, ‘Big Brother’ did very little to accelerate the celebrity of those people who took part. Some made low-level impact in television presenting jobs and music careers. Suddenly, and without much warning, related reality television programmes appeared on all national channels which thrust unknowns into the spotlight – this wasn’t just a big cheque to a quiz show winner, this was a recording contract, this was glossy magazine photo opps, this was Hollywood treatment to a British postcode and the bright lights of fame and fortune shone directly into the hearts of people who wanted instant success for little work. And who wouldn’t want to have a celebrity career at a fingerclick?

On the flipside of all this, celebrities whose careers had faded through the years found themselves using the same processes to win back a little of the bright lights they thought were lost. Celebrity versions of Big Brother, Fame Academy and others made it acceptable to strip celebrities of most of their charm as a ‘payback’ for their desperation to return into the centre of people’s attention. They danced, sang and wandered around naked for the benefit of nobody but their own attempts to make it again in the changed celebrity world. This new reality, fed by and made for reality television, made celebrities as hungry for fame as the ordinary people who wanted more than a quiz show first prize.

The extreme conclusion of this is ITV’s “I’m a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here”, the natural consequence for the urgency with which faded celebrities wanted coverage in the tabloids. ITV couldn’t have known  just how far they could push famous people to do whatever they asked. Insects were eaten, dung was swam through, flesh was revealed and dignities were prostituted. As long as office workers could guffaw on Monday morning about a has-been crunching on spiders, then the production team had done their job.

Viewing figures for “I’m a Celebrity…” topped 16 million people. That’s one of the highest viewing figures on British television, far over-shadowing the viewing numbers for most soaps. Up with other ITV stables such as “The X-Factor” and its predecessor “Pop Idol”, it’s a huge success story for advertisers, producers and celebrities alike.

Nadine Dorries is not a celebrity by many definitions of the term. She’s a member of parliament, representing the constituency of Mid Bedfordshire. At the 2010 election, just shy of 29,000 people voted for her to represent them, over 50% of those who voted. Those 29,000 people probably knew before hand that Nadine was a controversial and divisive figure. Her provocative views on abortion law reform has set her apart from many Conservative MPs. Perhaps most infamously, she attempted to take through the Commons an “abstinence Bill”, an old-fashioned, out-dated “won’t somebody think of the children” legislation.

She justifies taking a televised holiday in Australia to eat  kangeroo anus because politicians are considered out of touch, and that a potential audience of 16 million people want to be taught by her. She believes ITV would allow her to talk about abortion reform law. She could not be more wrong, and goodness knows she has been wrong plenty of times in her career. She’s misunderstood the point of a prime-time reality show if she thinks long speeches about abortion law would be shown amongst shots of models and pop stars camped around a bonfire. She’s misunderstood the point of prime-time reality programmes entirely if she thinks politicians can appear without production choices making them look embarrassing.

This isn’t to say that we should keep MPs on BBC Parliament and pop stars on ITV1. There is a need to make politics and politicians relevant to people today, especially young people. Nadine Dorries can speak about getting her fingernails dirty all she likes; the role of an MP is not to appear on a phone-in reality show where producers have all the power. With Parliament currently sitting, laws are being debated and voted on, and alongside those MPs from Sinn Féin who refuse to take their seats, Nadine Dorries is deliberately absent. That’s not a responsible act from an MP however you measure it.

I’m not against MPs getting out into the real world, but “I’m a Celebrity…” is not reality. Getting an MP to be a bin man for a week or sit in A&E is just as ‘finger nail dirtying’ as anything Nadine pretends will happen whilst being filmed eating a cockroach with a Page 3 model, and it’s more likely to produce something approaching respect with voters.

I doubt watching Nadine eating an arse rather than talking out of one will bring her into a new light. It won’t win her respect as an MP who is taking a holiday on full pay because she feels that nobody is listening to her on Question Time. Already semi-detached amongst her colleagues, the natural conclusion from her jaunt is a permanent exclusion from the Conservative Party. If she wanted to do the decent thing, her next job will be in the Chiltern Hundreds.

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news of the screws

When the on-line world exploded into hurried and manic hysteria over footballers and their unruly bedroom hopping, easily banded about words and phrases bounced around social media sites in a frenzy of keyboard tapping. “Freedom of speech,” said some. “Right to know!”.

Tabloid journalism has not always been so salacious or controversial. The British press changed, for good and for ever, around 1968 with Rupert Murdoch’s purchase of the News of the World and, one year later, The Sun. The rest, as they say, is pretty much history. The more these red-tops and others like it became more sensational, scandalous, gossip-driven, an increased desire to read more stories like it grew amongst the general public. “Freedom of speech,” came back the reply whenever shocking content blared out from the newsagents shelves – photos of Princess Diana at the gym? Right to know. Readers like this sort of thing. We want to know. And, deep down, we all probably did.

After all, said the blokes down the Cricketers Arms, the tabloids are decent enough for the footie and some tits on Page 3, tomorrow’s chip-paper doesn’t have any lasting harm on those in the public eye. “Right to know!” cry us all when politicians are hauled up for their shortcomings, or one television celebrity is found cheating on another. One industry fuels another, and at massive profits for all sides, the chase for more and more headlines for increasing readers and advertising money is an insatiable rush. Drugs provide lesser hits than the journalists need for one more story above his colleagues and rivals.

Last night, the Guardian reported that News of the World journalists hacked into – and deleted messages from – the mobile phone of missing girl Milly Dowler . Condemnation has been, by and large, across the spectrum. To hack into the mobile phones of politicians, singers, footballers – that was something, one level of questionable behaviour, morally dubious, stupid behaviour for which resignations must follow. We all tutted and shook our heads.

This new revelation goes beyond “morally dubious”. If as true as reported, the acts of those involved are nigh-on depraved (and potentially perverting the course of justice). Milly Dowler’s parents took the removal of voicemail messages as a sign, however small, that their daughter was still alive. It is beyond all reasonable considerations for most sane, rounded individuals that anybody could consider the deleting of messages to be justified in the search of a story.

We are, let us admit and concede, all hungry for scandal, shock, something new in the ongoing storylines of life. When I blogged about the celebrity injunctions earlier this year, search terms “injunction footballer” and “footballer named on Have I Got News For You” landed people here in the desperate search for the identity of the man involved. Despite the outrage over paparazzi behaviour, the death of Diana, hounding of her children, sales for Royal Wedding special editions soared. The “public interest” excuse feeds the tabloids, and the tabloids feed us.

The Milly Dowler revelations reach far beyond anything connected with a journo’s desire for an exclusive. This may be the product of the twisted relationship between public and press, but that cannot be used as even fleeting justification. Plain wrong, from top to bottom, now would be a very good time for somebody with Government (Mssrs Hunt, Cameron, Cable, we look to you) to ensure News International are blocked from gaining any more ground on the UK’s media market. This episode was bleak enough; the stench of distaste should not permeate any further.