Ed Balls' appearance on Strictly Come Dancing is criticized as inappropriate and undermining to his political credibility, despite his claims that it shows politicians as real people. Politicians participating in reality TV is seen as indicative of celebrity culture infiltrating politics. This phenomenon has led to celebrity politicians like Donald Trump gaining traction without political experience. While not as extreme in the UK, the emerging trend of policy being overshadowed by personality is worrying, as it undermines the substance of politics.

1. A bit of a Balls-up
In the wake of David Cameron’s recent resignation as a member of Parliament, speculation
is mounting about what’s next for the former prime minister. A political memoir and the
creation of a charity for the disadvantaged have both been aired as possible options, along
with the odd gig as a motivational speaker (‘How to go it alone?’ perhaps).
In this moment of contemplation, Cameron may well look to retired senior politicians for
inspiration. Will he follow in the footsteps of Gordon Brown (UN Special Envoy for Global
Education) and David Miliband (CEO of the International Rescue Committee) and be guided
by a sense of civic duty, or will he seek to enhance his business credentials (the dubbed Blair
Incorporation)? Worst of all, will he become a national laughing stock by airing his Dad-bod
on Strictly, à la Ed Balls?
Ever since the former shadow chancellor revealed his participation in the treasured dancing
show, which is timed with the launch of his political memoir, the media has gone into an
infectious frenzy, poised to ridicule the forty-seven-year-old’s moves in the hope that he will
be the new Ann Widdecombe.
Alongside his admission of having a midlife crisis, Balls has defended his appearance on the
show by claiming it is important that politicians are seen in a wider, human context - ‘as real
people who make mistakes and have vulnerabilities’. Many would agree, pointing to the all-
too-frequent disconnect between credible policies and emotional intelligence. The
referendum result demonstrates this perfectly; no matter how many experts Team Remain
reeled out, they were unable to connect with voters on an emotional level. In this context,
Balls’ Strictly debut is seen as a shrewd move should the former MP seek a return to
Westminster, something which he admits he would ‘love to do’.
Shrewd it may be, but appropriate it isn’t. The prospect of Glitter Balls returning to the
dispatch box is a ridiculous one; mixing hip-thrusting and sound economic policy would be
like asking David Brent to give a lecture in business strategy. Harsh? Not really. The issue is
less to do with competence and more about credibility. Take George Galloway’s appearance
on Celebrity Big Brother in 2006. Despite his controversial views and questionable alliances,
Galloway’s impressive performance before the US Senate in 2005 made the political elite
stand up and take notice. He was the Respect MP for Bethnal Green and Bow. Then,
overnight, he became a pussycat, purring in a semi-sexual manner before actress Rula
Lenska - his constituents rightly recoiled with shame and any new-found credibility
evaporated.
Admittedly, the impropriety and implications of dabbling in reality TV were more grave for
Galloway, who was still an active MP at the time. The criticism he attracted for abandoning
his constituents in favour of licking imaginary milk foreshadowed the temporary suspension
of Nadine Dorris when, in 2012, she ditched her constituents to do a stint on I’m a Celebrity
Get Me Out of Here. Ironically, she regarded this unauthorised bunk, which generated over
£80,000 profit for her personal service company (profit that she failed to declare before the
Parliamentary Standards Committee), as an attempt to build trust between the political elite
and voters. In comparison, then, who cares if a retired politician prances around in lycra?

2. That was certainly the opinion of Tory Ann Widdecombe, whose Strictly debut signified a
new stage of personal freedom. In her own words, ‘I would indeed lose my gravitas, but
what did I want it for [now that I’m no longer an MP]’. Any mileage in this argument is
undermined by the fact that Widdecombe has continued to vocalise, and received payment
for, her opinion on serious issues (it was during her appearance on Strictly that she spoke at
a national anti-abortion event). Even if she had transitioned to a life of pure frivolity,
severing this from her political legacy is impossible.
Yet my concern is not for the reputation of Widdecombe, whose hoisting during the Paso
Doble I enjoyed as much as the next Strictly fan. Rather, it is that the involvement of
politicians in reality TV is indicative of a wider phenomenon: the infiltration of celebrity
culture in politics.
Across the pond, this phenomenon has led to Trump being a serious contender for the
White House. Following in the footsteps of Schwarzenegger, the former Governor of
California, Trump’s celebrity status may well catapult him into office despite his lack of
political experience. At least Reagan, a former actor, was in politics for fourteen years
before he made president. If successful, Trump will do so on the back of shouting ‘You’re
fired!’ at hapless entrepreneurs starring in a reality TV show. Alarmingly, Trump’s political
inexperience is being hailed as a virtue; his policy deficit is regarded as evidence that he is
not a scripted politician, while his xenophobia is perceived as refreshingly honest, a
welcome contrast to the politically-correct and bland establishment.
While UK politics has not yet reared a celebrity politician on the same scale, the culture is
emerging. Let’s take Boris Johnson as an example. He is widely perceived as a zip-wiring,
pint-drinking man of the people. Even the media’s persistent use of his first name, Boris,
implies warmth and harmlessness (it’s hard to imagine Jeremy or Theresa catching on in the
same way). Yet, behind this well-crafted persona lies a mayoral legacy that includes summer
riots and strained union relations, an entrenched housing crisis and, beyond Crossrail,
limited transport investment. As a prominent Brexiteer, he endorsed the misleading pledge
to grant £350 million to the NHS every week and dismissed Obama as a ‘part-Kenyan’ with
an ‘ancestral dislike of the British Empire’. He was also educated at Britain’s most exclusive
private school - a far cry from his image as a champion of the masses.
The emerging gulf between policy and personality is a worrying trend, one that proves the
commentators right; there is a need to humanise politics. Unpersonable leaders who lack
the ability to relate to voters will never have the opportunity to implement their policies, no
matter how sound these may be, whereas politicians who let the veil slip, who expose
vulnerabilities and elicit laughter, are more likeable and, therefore, voteable.
Acknowledging this is necessary, perhaps even legitimate, but using reality TV as a platform
to collect votes risks undermining the substance of politics. Anyone who misconstrues this
as intellectual snobbery should think again, before they wake up one day and the next
candidate for Number 10 is Craig Revel Horwood. What an absolute disaaaster that would
be.