There are few things more important to a healthy democracy than integrity.
Those who hold public office should be expected to tell the truth, keep their promises where they can, admit mistakes when they cannot, and exercise power with humility and accountability. When they fall short, they should be challenged. That is not a flaw in democracy; it is one of its greatest strengths.
Christians have long understood the importance of speaking truth to power. The biblical prophets confronted kings. John the Baptist challenged Herod. Jesus himself exposed hypocrisy and injustice wherever he found it. Faithful public witness has never meant remaining silent in the face of wrongdoing.
So criticism of those in authority is not only legitimate; it is often necessary.
Yet something about our political, media and public culture feels different today.
As I write this blog, Sir Keir Starmer is about to hand over the office of Prime Minister to Andy Burnham. Whatever history’s verdict on Sir Keir’s premiership, I cannot help but feel a measure of sadness as he leaves office. Like every Prime Minister, he made mistakes. There were decisions that deserved robust criticism and moments that called for challenge. Yet I am not convinced that many of the relentless headlines, daily controversies and perpetual outrage that surrounded his premiership, particularly close to the end, were proportionate to his failings.
More importantly, my concern is not really about Sir Keir at all – or indeed those of his predecessors who had a similar experience, whatever their party.
It is about Andy Burnham.
And about every Prime Minister who will come after him.
Because unless something changes in our political and public culture, each will inherit the same impossible environment: one in which governing increasingly means firefighting the latest controversy, responding to exaggerated claims, correcting misinformation (and lies), and navigating an almost continuous cycle of outrage before thoughtful government has even had time to take effect.
Today’s politicians do not simply face scrutiny, they inhabit an environment of almost permanent judgement.
Today’s politicians do not simply face scrutiny, they inhabit an environment of almost permanent judgement. Every hour brings fresh headlines, rolling commentary, breaking news alerts, podcasts, opinion pieces, social media reactions and instant analysis. Every decision is dissected before its consequences can even begin to emerge. Every hesitation becomes weakness. Every poorly chosen phrase is replayed, reframed and shared thousands of times over. Every change of course, even the wise and necessary ones, is disparaged as a “U-turn” – yet good leadership is not the refusal to change one’s mind; it is the courage to do so when wisdom, integrity or evidence require it.
None of this is to suggest that politicians should be shielded from scrutiny. Public office should never be insulated from challenge. But somewhere along the way, accountability has become entangled with something much less healthy.
Public criticism, it seems to me, is no longer simply about helping to produce wiser, more just government. Increasingly, it operates within an attention economy that rewards speed over reflection, certainty over humility and outrage over fairness. The harshest interpretation – or even the misinformation that reinforces our prior assumptions – is often the thing that spreads furthest. The least charitable reading quickly becomes the default assumption. Politicians are rarely afforded the benefit of the doubt. Little room is left for complexity, for changing one’s mind in light of new evidence, or simply for being human.
When cynicism becomes our default posture, we cease merely holding power to account and begin creating a culture in which governing well becomes impossible.
Of course, some criticism is entirely justified. Some failures deserve sustained public attention. But when cynicism becomes our default posture, we cease merely holding power to account and begin creating a culture in which governing well becomes impossible.
It should be no surprise to us that this conversation is itself so rare. Those with the greatest platforms from which to question our culture of outrage are often those most deeply immersed within it and profiting from it. Criticism generates audiences. Controversy creates engagement. Polarisation grabs attention. The system rarely rewards those who pause to ask whether perpetual outrage is serving democracy as well as we imagine.
Nor is this simply a problem for politicians or the media.
Christians are not immune.
Many church leaders will recognise the dynamic. Faithful ministry carried out week after week can easily be overshadowed by unwarranted criticism. A hundred encouraging conversations are forgotten because one negative email, or one public criticism in a church meeting lingers in the mind. It becomes harder to lead courageously when every decision is assumed to deserve suspicion before it has even been understood.
The same pattern can be found across charities, voluntary organisations, businesses and public institutions. Politics is simply one of the places where it is most visible.
One of the more curious features of our age is that praise itself has become suspect.
To acknowledge that a government has made a wise decision is often assumed to signal political allegiance. Criticism, meanwhile, is frequently regarded as evidence of independence.
But genuine independence should not require permanent negativity. It should require honesty.
Sometimes honesty demands saying, “This policy is misguided.” At other times it demands saying, “This decision deserves credit.” Integrity requires both.
This is something we at JPIT have tried, however imperfectly, to practise ourselves.
For many years we, alongside many others, called for the abolition of the two-child benefit limit because of its disproportionate impact on children growing up in poverty. So when the Government finally announced its removal, we joined charities, churches and campaigning organisations from across civil society in welcoming that decision, and we did so publicly.
Not because of any kind of party allegiance.
And certainly not because we suddenly agreed with every other policy of the Government.
But because integrity required us to celebrate a decision that reflected values we had consistently advocated. If we expect governments to hear our criticism when they fall short, we should also be willing to acknowledge when they act in ways that advance justice and better protect those who are poor and vulnerable.
Christians should be particularly attentive to this.
Scripture repeatedly calls God’s people to truthful speech. The command not to bear false witness is not simply about avoiding outright lies. It is also about refusing to distort reality or misrepresent our neighbour. The New Testament urges believers to “speak the truth in love” (Ephesians 4:15), holding together two virtues that are too easily separated in contemporary public life.
Love without truth becomes sentimentality.
Truth without love easily becomes cruelty.
This has implications not only for how we speak about politicians, but also for how we listen to them. We should resist the temptation to assume bad motives where simpler explanations exist. We should distinguish between error and malice, between changing one’s mind and abandoning one’s principles, between genuine failure and the impossible expectation of perfection.
None of this means lowering expectations of those who govern. Quite the opposite.
We must continue to call out injustice wherever we encounter it. We must continue to challenge policies that fail to reflect the values of God’s Kingdom. We must continue to expose political posturing that humiliates or scapegoats the vulnerable, and we must continue to hold those in power to account with courage and conviction.
But we should also celebrate integrity when we see it. We should acknowledge humility, good governance and decisions that genuinely serve the common good. We should create space for complexity, repentance and change. And we should resist becoming captive to a culture that profits from perpetual outrage.
At JPIT we often speak of our hope for a politics characterised by listening, kindness and truthfulness.
At JPIT we often speak of our hope for a politics characterised by listening, kindness and truthfulness. Those are not simply virtues we hope to see in Parliament. They are virtues we are called to embody ourselves as we participate in public life.
Democracy certainly needs leaders of integrity.
But perhaps now more than ever, it also needs integrity in the way we hold those leaders to account.