In the past decade, three British politicians have been murdered: Jo Cox, Sir David Amess, and now Ann Widdecombe. I have had a connection to all three
By Benedict Rogers in The Tablet
I never had the privilege of meeting Jo Cox, but we had mutual friends and worked in similar human rights and humanitarian circles. I knew David Amess well, campaigned for him and worked with him on human rights and religious freedom. And I knew Ann Widdecombe for over twenty years – not as well as some, but well enough to deeply mourn her death.
I vividly recall the first time I met Ann. It was Shrove Tuesday 2003, and I was meeting with her parliamentary friend and fellow Catholic Lord Alton, who later became my sponsor into the Catholic Church and with whom I have worked closely on international human rights ever since.
We were having tea in the House of Lords when, suddenly realising that our meeting had run over, Lord Alton told me to wait there while he went to collect “Ann”. I knew immediately who “Ann” was and felt somewhat daunted. At the time I only knew of her from her formidable political persona, and had not anticipated spending an evening with her. But within minutes of David Alton bringing her to our table, my trepidation fell away as she charmed me with kindness, humanity, and humour.
Shortly afterwards, we were joined by David Amess. I learned that these three Catholics – Ann, David Alton and David Amess – got together for drinks and dinner on Shrove Tuesday every year, before Lent began the next day on Ash Wednesday. They would then abstain from alcohol during Lent. As the conversation moved to a discussion of where to go to dinner, I decided I didn’t want to interrupt their annual get-together any further and suggested I would head home. Fixing me with a beady eye, Ann said: “Join us, unless you have something else to do.” The two Davids nodded in ascent, and hence I ended up in a Greek restaurant in Pimlico drinking retsina with Ann Widdecombe. She kept refilling my glass and at one moment as she did so she fixed me with another beady eye and asked: “Are you giving up alcohol for Lent?” David Alton whispered with a wink: “You are now.”
At that dinner, I told Ann that I had just been accepted onto the Conservative Party Candidates List and was looking for a seat to contest at the next General Election. She made a promise to campaign for me if I was selected to fight a seat, and she was as good as her word when I was chosen as the candidate in the City of Durham for the 2005 election. She came up for two days, to help me in Durham and another candidate in a neighbouring seat, and – in a typical tour de force – took Durham by storm.
Campaigning with Ann was one of the most memorable experiences of my brief foray into electoral politics. It was just at the time when she was transitioning from frontline politics to television personality, appearing on reality television and beginning her career as a novelist. We did a walkabout in the Market Place and were mobbed by mostly friendly – or at least curious – voters. We went to a housing estate to knock on doors, and local residents were crossing the road or hanging out of upstairs windows to greet her with shouts of: “Ann, we’ve seen you on Celebrity Fit Club. We love you!”
I had a car for the campaign, and so as we drove around Durham, I gave Ann a loudspeaker. She developed a clever trick of speaking in short spurts, explaining to me that if you are in a moving vehicle you can’t speak in long sentences as half the sentence would be lost by the time you have passed by. So she would shout: “Vote Rogers. Vote Conservative. May 5.” Every few moments she would add in: “Be positive”.
We reached a red traffic light and I thought while we were stationary, she might give the loudspeaker a rest, but instead she looked at a bus in the next lane and shouted: “Come on bus, be positive, vote Conservative.” I got the giggles and accidentally changed lanes without signalling, narrowly avoiding a crash. Car drivers beeped their horns and I am not sure if it was in outrage at my driving or in welcome to Ann.
At another moment, I genuinely forgot where I had parked the car. When I admitted this to Ann, her matronly instincts kicked in and I was subjected to a non-stop barrage of her saying: “Think, Ben. Come on, think. Where did you park it? Think. Think.” Eventually we found it, and went on to address a public meeting where she handled questioners and hecklers with typical aplomb.
Over the years since then, we kept in touch. After I became a Catholic, I interviewed her for my book From Burma to Rome. We met from time to time to talk about my ambitions to stand for Parliament, and she was always unfailingly kind, generous and helpful.
We also discussed my work on human rights and religious freedom, a cause she championed with Aid to the Church in Need. At one point we explored the possibility of travelling together to Myanmar, a human rights crisis with which I have been involved for over 25 years. She spent part of her childhood growing up in Singapore and still went back periodically, so we thought she might come with me to Myanmar on one of her visits the region. Sadly, it never happened.
The last time I saw Ann in person was, poignantly, at the funeral in Westminster Cathedral for David Amess, where she gave a eulogy. She and I also appeared on Sky News together to reflect on David’s murder and his remarkable life. They were the closest of friends, with David inheriting her parliamentary office when she retired. In the aftermath of his murder, she was one of the strongest sources of support to his widow and family in their grief. That makes her own dreadful murder all the more tragic – for her family and friends, and for the Amess family.
As everyone who knew her would say, Ann was a most extraordinary conviction politician. She had strong opinions and stood by them, regardless of whether or not they were popular. She articulated her views with passion and panache. She debated forcefully, and did not suffer fools gladly.
But while she was serious about her beliefs, she never took herself too seriously. And she never let disagreements affect how she treated people. You might disagree strongly with her, as I did on several issues, but while she would argue her corner robustly, she treated everyone with dignity, respect, kindness, and humour. Some of her closest friends were people who did not share her socially conservative views or her support for Brexit.
That is why her death is such a tragedy. We do not yet know the motives of her killer, but if it was politically motivated it is an assault on our democracy, and even if it was not politically motivated, the murder of a 78 year-old woman in her own home in the Devon countryside is itself an assault on society.
Democracy only works if we abide by two principles.
The first is to respect our common humanity, seeking ways to work together across the political divide to uphold shared values of freedom, human rights, and human dignity, regardless of our political differences.
The second is that violence should have no place in our society. We settle political differences through debate – which can be passionate and robust, but always respectful – and ultimately at the ballot box, not through violence and murder.
Much of politics in many democracies has become far too toxic in recent years, and the consequences of that toxicity can be deadly, as we have seen both in the U.K. and in the United States. May we learn from Ann Widdecombe’s style of politics – one of integrity, conviction and courage, but also humanity, humour, and kindness – even if we might not agree with all her views. May her killer be brought to justice, and may she rest in peace.
This article was originally published in The Tablet.