He’s a Member of Parliament… Get him out of there!
Millie Glaister, BA Politics and International Relations
By the time you read this, ITV’s ‘I’m a Celebrity… Get Me Out of Here!’ will have been and gone for the year, but as I sit here writing, we are still in the throes of being presented with a ragtag team of low-level celebrities clowning around in the jungle. One of these celebrities, however, is unlike the others, and in my efforts to chronicle my own reaction to having a serving MP feature on this reality show, I have come to understand that my reaction has followed a categorical path. You have likely heard of the five stages of grief, but here I present to you the five stages of realising an MP-and-former-Health-Secretary-during-a-pandemic-that-cost-over-200,000-lives-in-your-country is appearing on ‘I’m A Celeb’.
When the news hit the headlines that Matt Hancock was going to be on ‘I’m A Celeb’, my initial reaction was a mixture of true excitement and glee at the thought of lawful vengeance. The absurdity of a serving MP going out into the Australian jungle and taking part in a series of debasing challenges banished all rational thought processes from my brain. Instead, it seemed to me that the public had been served Hancock on a silver platter to exact their revenge through public humiliation and the consumption of a variety of animal genitalia. The whole situation seemed like karmic retribution, catharsis for the hardships endured by the British public at the hands of Hancock. My thought process – albeit naively – perceived this as something enacted upon him, something out of his control and something that he must truly be dreading. This was something I will admit I took pleasure in, and thus I found myself in Stage one: Delight.
As the initial shock and hilarity of the story wore off and the reality set in, my mind was consumed with questions that seemingly I could find few answers for, and the answers I could find were not what I was looking for: Is this a joke? (answer: no); Is this allowed? (answer: yes? Maybe? Not sure?); What about his constituents? (answer: who cares?); will there be repercussions? (answer: yes, but nothing as significant as you have in mind); is there anything I can do to stop this? (answer: no, and it will be covered in every media outlet constantly, making it unavoidable). We saw promos being released of Hancock looking as smarmy and insincere as ever, and yet I still couldn’t believe my eyes. Even when the Conservatives announced they had suspended the Tory whip, leaving Hancock serving as an independent, all I could think was, is that it? It’s all well and good removing a title, but that doesn’t change the fact he is still flitting around the wilderness on the other side of the world. There I was, falling under the embrace of stage two: Confusion.
Along with this confusion, I started to realise this was no more than a calculated publicity stunt. At best, it was a means to reconcile his image to the British public, and at worst was the last chance to get a big paycheck and expedite his fame in advance of his book release (conveniently set for 6 December) after he realised he had no future in politics. After mishandling the pandemic’s response continually, along with being publicly exposed for breaking his own covid rules while maintaining an extra-marital affair with his aide inside the Department for Health offices, you might have thought Hancock couldn’t have stooped any lower. But lo and behold, he decides to abandon his constituents amidst the worst cost of living crisis in a generation, in which it is estimated by National Energy Action that 14.5% of households in Hancock’s constituency live in fuel poverty. Thus, I was gripped by stage three: Outrage.
“As if we should be expected to look past not only his flagrant disregard for his constituents, or the innumerable people that didn’t get the chance to say goodbye to loved ones, or those whose mental health still hasn’t recovered from the lockdowns, or even the more than 200,000 lives lost under his management of COVID-19, simply because one man fell in love.”
My outrage rapidly devolved into pure and irreconcilable anger. The combination of his blatant lack of care for his community, constituency and the country of which he has been elected to serve, and the report by the Sun that Hancock is due to be paid close to £400,000 for his time on the ITV show, left me in a state of fury. This was only fueled by watching a clip of him explaining away all his wrongdoings, saying, ‘I messed up, and I fessed up,… I resigned,’ and even worse, stating, ‘It’s no excuse, but I fell in love.’ As if we should be expected to look past not only his flagrant disregard for his constituents or the innumerable people that didn’t get the chance to say goodbye to loved ones, or those whose mental health still hasn’t recovered from the lockdowns, or even the more than 200,000 lives lost under his management of COVID-19, simply because one man fell in love. It’s despicable, and it’s unfathomable, but here we are, stage 4: Rage.
One might think that the logical progression following the real five stages of grief lands us somewhere around acceptance. But that is not something I am capable of, as it turns out. So all I am left with is stage five: Shame. Deep, all-consuming shame that the state of our country and political system has left us with a Member of Parliament gallivanting around the Australian jungle while thousands of people across the UK are having to choose between food and heating this winter. Not only that, but the inherent complicity of mainstream media, especially ITV in this situation, in marketing to us a redemption arc for a man whom many of us hold accountable for some of the lowest points in our lives. I don’t foresee being able to move past this stage, and for the time being, I am stuck looking at the nation’s political sphere as a playground for egotistical and power-hungry men who have little to no regard for anyone else.
Photo Caption: Matt Hancock asks how much forgiveness costs (Credit: Millie Glaister).
