A happy cacophony

“WE KNOW of no spectacle so ridiculous as the British public in one of its periodic fits of morality.” Far be it from your humble correspondent to gainsay the late Thomas Macaulay, but as the row about the expense claims of Britain's MPs drags on into its second month, the politicians are giving the public a run for their money.

The details of the scandal are out of all proportion to its actual effects. From dubious claims for moat-cleaning, plasma-screen televisions, artificial duck islands and mortgages on second homes has emerged a game of constitutional one-upmanship, with the leaders of all three big parties competing to offer the most radical medicine. Proportional representation, fixed-term parliaments, even a National Council for Democratic Renewal—all are offered as essential medicine to a nation that has supposedly lost faith in its political system. MPs are claimed (by one of their own) to be contemplating suicide. We are told the spectre of the xenophobic British National Party stalks the land, growing fat on public outrage, and though they did pick up two seats in the European elections, this hardly seems another Reichstag fire. There is dark talk of a “crisis of democracy.”

From your correspondent's perch in the corner of the Penderel's Oak, a chain pub not far from Covent Garden, the crisis is hard to spot. The place is packed: easily 100 are crammed into a downstairs room. A lucky few have tables; the rest are standing or sitting on the floor. They have come to show their support. This is a benefit gig for Simon Singh (pictured), one of Britain's best-known popular science writers. Mr Singh is being sued by the British Chiropractic Association over an article he wrote, questioning chiropractic's usefulness, in the course of which he made a remark which, the court has held, bore a meaning he says he did not intend and does not actually believe. It is a slightly obscure subject, perhaps, but the attendees are passionate. Vigorous applause greets the speakers (including a comedian, a blogging lawyer and a journalist). An MP addresses the crowd, and his joke about expenses (“Sorry I'm late. I was haggling with the cab driver”) is received in good humour. Mr Singh himself is cheered to the rafters.

The whole experience is a welcome antidote to the cynicism that tempts anyone who spends time in or around politics. The crowd is unusual; most would describe themselves, with considerable pride, as nerds, interested in science and how to apply it. The talks cover complicated ground, and range beyond the matter immediately at hand. They cover the nature of scientific evidence, whether a court is a suitable place to discuss which medical treatments work and which don't and the appeal of Britain's absurdly strict libel laws (which, in a reversal of the usual legal arrangements, require the defendant to prove his innocence) to jet-setting “libel tourists” seeking a favourable jurisdiction.

After the speeches are finished, a lady from Sense About Science, a charity, collects e-mail addresses for a mailing list. A petition is promised. Most of the pub-goers hang around, at least for a while—many are regulars of an organisation called Sceptics in the Pub, which meets here every few weeks to discuss science and society. It's loud, messy and disorganised—and very democratic.

It seems a world away from the incipient revolution proclaimed on the nightly news. Admittedly voter turnout is low and falling. People are cynical and distrust their MPs, although that isn't new (the proportion of voters who say they trust their MPs is the same today—18%—as 20 years ago). The recession is sharpening grievances, and the news that many MPs have had their hands in the till doesn't help.

But politicians risk confusing the public's opinion of Parliament and the government with its opinion of democracy. The two are not the same; there is more to democracy than 650 people sitting in a faux-gothic pile on the banks of the Thames. Democracy is as much a state of mind as a collection of institutions. A cynic might even suspect them of deliberately conflating the two—after all, by menacing voters with the scary prospect of a collapse of democracy, MPs could deflect some of the public's anger over their behaviour.

Admittedly, it was only one night in one pub in one town in Britain. The assembled nerds at the Penderel's Oak would doubtless shy away from drawing any broad conclusions about society from such a limited and self-selecting sample as one of their own meetings. But it's a little piece of evidence that, despite all the sound and fury, the democratic spirit is alive and well.