Lee Anderson’s f-word outburst is a low point in the history of political profanity

From Churchill’s ‘KBO’ imperative to the ‘Shackleton of naughty words’, Sean O’Grady gives us a primer on politics and vulgarity

‘30p Lee’ Anderson says migrants can ‘f*** off back to France’ (UK parliament/AFP via Getty)

Lee Anderson, the unlikely deputy chair of the Conservative Party, is in the news again for saying that any asylum seekers who are reluctant to live in fetid, overcrowded, dangerous conditions on a modern-day prison hulk waiting to become the next Grenfell can “f*** off back to France” if they don’t like it.

There are some that are offended by the sentiment, others by the swearing, and yet more by both. It isn’t so much “dog-whistle” politics but megaphone messaging. Opinions are divided on whether what Anderson’s colleague, the justice secretary, Alex Chalk, calls “salty” and “robust” language actually works for politicians in any case.

Are British politicians more sweary than they used to be?

We do need to be darn careful here. In private, many give free rein to their vocabulary, the same as most other people. Sometimes there are surprises, such as the King. Although not a political figure, his reportedly liberal use of the c-word, particularly in relation to the Duke of Sussex, would surprise many of his fans. It’s said that Boris Johnson is also prone to utter the epithet about Rishi Sunak.

In public, though, politicians tend to avoid using the most powerful of swear words, and to a remarkable degree. They’re officially constrained in parliament from even calling each other a liar (with the notable exception of Johnson), but they are fairly disciplined even outside the chamber. Swearing like a Derek and Clive album is often taken to be a sign that they have run out of arguments, and vulgar abuse of an opponent doesn’t really convince anyone that your economic policy is succeeding precisely as planned.

Swearing publicly is rare indeed. Even now the use of the f-word, for example, is a startling exception, though times have changed enough for it to be actually reported these days rather than discreetly ignored.

The sweary dam (pun intended) may be fracturing, if not breaking. Just as the theatre critic Kenneth Tynan’s use of the f-word for the first time on British television in 1965 marked a turning point, so too did Johnson’s private but repeated use of the f-word a few years ago. Although in private conversation, it was soon widely quoted (and still is) in a way that had not occurred to anything like that extent before. The much-repeated expression “f*** business” actually gave the wrong impression of what Johnson was trying to do. The then prime minister, frustrated at constant nagging from Britain’s industrialists about the perils of Brexit, petulantly spat out “f*** business” on one occasion. What he meant was that he was tired of constant special pleading by big businesses to the detriment of the economy as a whole and the interests of smaller enterprises and entrepreneurs. But it was taken as further evidence of his childish refusal to face facts.

So this isn’t a first for the f-word?

Not really. Politicians’ profanity isn’t usually leaked but occasionally they get quoted some time after the event. Denis Healey, Labour chancellor in the 1970s and blessed with a considerable cultural hinterland, was also a champion swearer, as his left-wing critics, surprisingly fragile despite their revolutionary fervour, often discovered. Indeed, Healey enjoyed deploying his rich lexicon at every opportunity. After the IMF rescue of the public finances in 1976, Healey frequently declared that he was looking forward to “f*** off day” when the final instalment of the large loan to the UK would be paid off. You can understand his sentiment.

Others have been gentler. Winston Churchill, unparalleled master of the spoken word, would happily tell waverers to “keep buggering on” just as he did, but he could also apply a deft touch to rudery. When told that Sir Alfred Bossom had been elected to the Commons, he couldn’t resist the temptation: “Bossom, Bossom, that’s an odd name! Neither one thing nor the other.”

What is swearing?

Exactly. Presumably the d-word was sufficiently tame by the 1880s to be used by Benjamin Disraeli to denounce “lies, damned lies and statistics.” In our own time, we find “b*****ks” increasingly bereft of its old force, and one of those words and phrases that have become more commonplace and acceptable, and thus seemingly milder in usage. It has crept into public discourse and passes more often than not for comical. B*****ks was once such a shocker it featured on a Sex Pistols album, but more recently has been cheerfully used on the BBC by Emily Thornberry.

The roots of the emergence of b*****ks, in that sense, are interesting. It still has an old-fashioned punch to it, but enjoyed a great vogue for a while after the 2016 election, when the slogan “B*****ks to Brexit” summed up a kind of ballsy Remain defiance in the face of a historic defeat. It fell readily from the lips and into the megaphone of Steve Bray, and was therefore heard loud and clear around Westminster and on many a news segment broadcast live from St Stephen’s Green. Bray, the most outstanding example of nominative determinism in modern politics, has moved on from that slogan but enjoys flirting with the profane, staying just within the limits of the laws specially passed to deal with his idiosyncratic style of activism – but always pushing at the boundaries. He is very much the Shackleton of naughty words.

Can it help rather than hinder?

It can try. Kenneth Clarke never expected his description of Theresa May as a “bloody difficult woman” to be picked up by a Sky News microphone but the back-handed compliment was gleefully seized on by May herself, keen to show off her tough credentials in the “man’s world of politics”. Perhaps for that reason too she used to make the occasional off-colour reply to the Tory backbencher Peter Bone. She once wished him a happy birthday at PMQs, adding: “I hope that Mrs Bone is going to treat the occasion in the appropriate manner.” She may in fact have been recycling an older risque line by David Cameron – “I do feel now that a very big part of my life is trying to give pleasure to Mrs Bone.” At any rate, some blue material in every sense there from May, and her a vicar’s daughter and all.

Most profane of all time?

Many of the Russian Bolsheviks, such as Stalin and Khrushchev, never lost their love of a pithy peasant put-down of some opponent, and every country has its vulgarians. Yet it is America’s statesmen and stateswomen, who so often like to pose as so pious, who can let loose the most profane epithets: Donald Trump is merely the latest exemplar. Lyndon Johnson, say, rarely held back on his friends or enemies. It was he who said of the then House Republican leader that “Gerry Ford is so dumb he can’t fart and chew gum at the same time” (though often bowdlerised at the time to “can’t walk and chew gum at the same time”).

One of the most damaging aspects of the Watergate scandal was the way that Richard Nixon – who gave the public impression of a devout Quaker – was such a potty-mouth when taped in the Oval Office. His answer to an aide worried about a financial crisis in Europe – “Well, I don’t give a shit about the [Italian] lire” – is deservedly a classic of its kind.

However, it’s Harry S Truman, president from 1945 to 1953 and as eloquent as they come, who wins the Malcolm Tucker Prize for imaginative swearing, and fittingly about his eventual successor: “Richard Nixon is a no-good, lying b*****d. He can lie out of both sides of his mouth at the same time, and if he ever caught himself telling the truth, he’d lie just to keep his hand in.”

And with that, I shall f*** off.