There comes a point when individual incidents cease to look like isolated lapses and begin to suggest something more troubling. I fear we may have reached that point with Reform UK.
Following the tragic murder of my dear friend Ann Widdecombe, I made what I regarded as an entirely uncontroversial appeal: that politicians of every party should respect the police’s request not to speculate publicly about the motive while a murder investigation remained under way.
Ann Widdecombe understood something that appears increasingly rare in politics
Reasonable people are entitled to disagree with that view. What surprised me was not disagreement but the response. Rather than engage with my argument, Reform UK’s ‘Shadow Home Secretary’, Zia Yusuf, chose to describe me as “disgraced” and “depraved”, I assume, resurrecting events from almost forty years ago under laws that discriminated against homosexual men.
I have never hidden my past. In 1987, I pleaded guilty to an offence of gross indecency. At that time the age of consent for homosexual men was twenty-one; for heterosexuals it was sixteen. Parliament has since acknowledged the injustice of those discriminatory laws. They have been repealed and, under what has become known as the ‘Alan Turing law’, those convicted of consensual homosexual offences under now-abolished legislation may apply to have such convictions disregarded as part of correcting historic wrongs.
One might have thought that settled the matter. Instead, it seems to me that a senior Reform official has chosen to weaponise a conviction arising from legislation that Parliament itself has recognised was unjust. That is revealing.
It also follows another recent episode involving Arron Banks, one of Reform’s most prominent supporters. After I questioned Nigel Farage’s apparent abandonment of his long-held belief that MPs who defect should seek a fresh mandate, Mr Banks did not address the constitutional argument. Instead, he resorted to crude personal remarks which, in my view, relied upon tired stereotypes about gay men.
Again, the politics was abandoned in favour of the person.
I have lived through enough genuine homophobia to recognise it when I encounter it. As a young Conservative politician, I was criminalised by laws that treated gay men differently from everyone else. Decades later, I became the victim of one of the gravest miscarriages of justice in modern Britain through the false allegations of Operation Midland. I received credible death threats, was forced temporarily to leave the United Kingdom and, on police advice, moved home on two occasions.
Against that background, abuse on social media scarcely registers. What does concern me is the wider culture.
Reform has repeatedly argued that politicians deserve greater protection from abuse and violence. On that point, I agree entirely.
My dear friend Sir David Amess, who stood by me throughout the darkest period of my life, was brutally murdered while serving his constituents. This is a stark reminder that those in public life can become targets for hatred and violence.
That is precisely why words matter.
Since Mr Yusuf apparently chose to resurrect events from nearly forty years ago and denounce me publicly, I have once again found myself inundated with abuse and vitriol. I have developed a thick skin and have endured far worse. But senior people in political parties should understand that their words carry weight. They can inflame passions, legitimise hostility and, whether intentionally or not, place individuals back in the firing line.
That is why I find Reform’s position so difficult to reconcile. It cannot, on the one hand, call for greater protection for politicians while, on the other, some of its own most senior figures use language that predictably fuels abuse against those with whom they disagree.
That is why I find Reform’s position so difficult to reconcile
I stress that I do not suggest every Reform member or supporter shares such attitudes. Many undoubtedly do not. But when one of the party’s principal donors and one of its most senior figures both choose to weaponise a gay man’s past rather than engage with his arguments civilly, I cannot escape the conclusion that there remains a troubling undercurrent of homophobia within parts of Reform UK.
If I am wrong, I would welcome the party leadership saying so unequivocally – not simply by distancing itself from such rhetoric, but by condemning it.
Ann Widdecombe understood something that appears increasingly rare in politics. She and I disagreed on many issues over the years. Yet when my own life was destroyed by false allegations, she stood beside me and offered practical, private and public support. She defended due process, free speech and the principle that every individual deserves dignity, even when doing so is unpopular.
She never confused robust disagreement with personal vilification.
Nigel Farage, Zia Yusuf and Arron Banks are perfectly entitled to disagree with me. In a democracy, that is their right.
Equally, I am entitled to express my views without having convictions under long-repealed discriminatory laws cynically deployed to discredit me or inflame public hostility.
If Reform wishes to convince the country that it is ready for government, it must demonstrate not only that it can win arguments but that it understands the responsibilities that accompany power.
That begins with treating opponents with decency, accepting disagreement without resorting to personal abuse, and recognising that the tone set by those at the top is often echoed by those below.
In today’s increasingly febrile political climate, that is not merely good manners, it is a matter of public safety.
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