How would you characterize the past thirteen years of Labour government?’ Bercow’s eyes flit towards his political advisor and back to me before both begin to laugh in a rather forced fashion. ‘I’m not going to get in to that, it’s too – it’s a very political question. A perfectly legitimate question for you to ask, and I know politicians have a reputation for ducking questions. I, on the whole, answer more than quite a lot of my predecessors, but I’m not going to get into that because, as you can see, if I start to answer that question then immediately I am breaching my impartiality, and I don’t think I should do that’.

Much of my interview with John Bercow, MP for Buckingham and recently elected Speaker of the House of Commons, followed this pattern. Perhaps more than most politicians, and with better reason than most, Bercow is extremely cautious with his choice of words and maintains an evenness of opinion that guarantees he will not be the source of any controversy. Of course, many modern politicians are accused of being empty suits whose only apparent skill is an uncanny ability to dodge questions. John Bercow, in his modern incarnation as Speaker, at least has an excuse if he comes across as evasive. As he explains: ‘As soon as I was elected (to the Speakership) I had to resign my membership of the Conservative party. My predecessors resigned their party membership because that’s the model of the British Speakership’.
In British politics the position of Speaker is ‘characterized by absolute political impartiality’, accordingly Bercow is now officially politically neutral, he is no longer a Conservative MP and in the coming election will stand as ‘the Speaker seeking reelection’.

“In recent years heavily party political activity has not been my staple diet”

This explains his reticence to my question about his opinion on the Blair/Brown Labour government, his job is to be an ‘impartial referee and to chair dispassionately the proceedings of the House and not to take sides’. This drastically limits what he is allowed to say in public: ‘I wouldn’t make party political speeches anymore because it would be totally inappropriate to do so. I would be very unwise to get embroiled in a partisan row between one party and another on the state of the health service, or the means by which to sustain our economic future’. He is, however, eager to remind his constituents that he is ‘absolutely free to speak publicly on anything which affects my constituents’ and that he does not intend to fight his reelection campaign in Buckingham, which is being contested by the UKIP leader Nigel Farage, ‘with my hands tied behind my back’.

“I don’t think that I’ve got anything particularly original to contribute to the national debate about the economy or the health service”

For many the idea of an apolitical politician might seem to be a contradiction in terms. What purpose do politicians serve if not to engage in national policy debates and try and score party political points? But far from being frustrated by his new found neutrality, Bercow seems to revel in it. In terms of policy making he modestly states that ‘I don’t think that I’ve got anything particularly original to contribute to the national debate about the economy or the health service. I did take part in those debates for years, but if you’re asking me do I hugely miss doing so: not especially, no’. Likewise Bercow shows no sign that he misses the rough and tumble of party politics: ‘In recent years heavily party political activity has not been my staple diet. So does it feel really odd or awkward or burdensome to leave the party fray and take up responsibilities on behalf of Parliament? The honest answer is no: I enjoy it’.All this makes Bercow a peculiar breed of politician: one who openly professes to having little to add to policy debates and who has little time for Westminster politicking.

Then again, Bercow has had quite an odd political career. When he says that he has ‘shifted over the years from very much the right of the Conservative party to the centre left’, he is perhaps understating the extent of the transformation of his political beliefs. Bercow began his political career as the Chairman of the Federation of Conservative Students (FCS) which was abolished by Norman Tebbit in 1986 for being too right-wing: the FCS had supported such causes as the Contras in Nicaragua and some of its prominent members had sported t-shirts with the slogan ‘Hang Nelson Mandela’. However, by 2007 many Conservatives questioned his Tory credentials amidst rumours of a potential defection to the Labour party and his growing commitment to concerns that were regarded as lying outside the purview of the Conservative party. Even his election to the Speakership was rumoured to have taken place without Conservative support; by some accounts only three Tory MPs voted for Bercow to be Speaker.

“The Tories must learn from what Blair has done”

In person Bercow claims that he has always been committed to Conservative principles such as ‘free enterprise, individual liberty, the rule of law’ but that he also ‘believed very strongly in social justice and an overwhelming need for equality before the law’. He cites his commitment to voting in favour of legislation that promised equal rights for homosexuals – except for when he was ‘briefly on the front bench and I voted with the Tory party in favour of Section 28’. Bercow admits that his political opinions and his shift from the right to the centre left have attracted ‘mixed reactions, some people say: “Oh, you’ve seen the light” and other people say: “Don’t trust him, he’s a traitor”‘. Ultimately Bercow explains his political shift as ‘partly philosophical and partly pragmatic’ and argues that such a shift was required for both him and the Conservative party if it wants to ‘capture the centre ground’, he even goes so far to say that ‘We (the Tories) must learn from what Blair has done’.

The past is now more or less irrelevant to John Bercow. The Speakership is, theoretically, a position for life and he is now safely above political intrigue. It is perhaps this privileged position which allows Bercow to be more philosophical than most politicians with regards to his past and more secure in his ambitions for the future. For him ‘the yardstick of success is whether at the end of my tenure of office the position of the back bencher in Parliament has been strengthened. At the end of my time I will ask my self, and I expect other people will ask: did he strengthen the back bencher? Did he make for a stronger Parliament? Did he allow Parliament to assert itself more effectively? And if the answer to those questions is yes, I shall finish a happy man’.

The 20th anniversary of Mandela’s release from prison was honoured by thousands of South Africans on February 11th. Although the 91 year-old was not present, the crowds paid their respects to him in the Prison of Victor Verster, surrounding a ten foot high statue which depicts him taking the first steps to freedom.

“Although there are indications of an emerging black middle-class (the “black diamonds”), the economy continues to be powered by whites“

Mandela’s speech on his release was a beacon of hope for reconciliation, and his efforts prior to, and during, his presidency won him a Nobel Prize and the respect of millions worldwide. But faith in change, having been inextricably bound up with Mandela’s person, seems to have weathered since his decision to step down. Although there are indications of an emerging black middle-class (the “black diamonds”), the economy continues to be powered by whites. In cities, there are still residential areas where black people are outright refused access. In rural areas, there are still reports of white farmers shooting at natives “mistaking them for baboons.” But there have also been cases of targeted attacks against whites; seven against Brandon Huntley alone. Huntley sought asylum in Canada, but his success was condemned by the ANC as an inflation of problems. Even more worrying is the Reconciliation Barometer Report of the African Institute of Justice and Reconciliation: on a typical day, 1/4 of South Africans do not talk to people of other races and only half see an improvement of race relations since apartheid.

The current president – Jacob Zuma – was born within the ostracised class. A member of the Zulu clan, he is hailed as “the new Mandela”, and perhaps his background is sufficient to restore faith in further change; but there is a fear that any uptrend may not last. Mandela’s words still have the power of binding the conscience of the crowds: “Remember the horrors from which we come” (2008). But will things change when he is gone?

“A place for new found tolerance and generosity, the atmosphere during the World Cup will reflect (albeit optimistically) much of South African attitudes”

Zuma’s remarks in Parliament on the 11th seem to combine the energy of the past with a vision for the future. A place for new found tolerance and generosity, the atmosphere during the World Cup will reflect (albeit optimistically) much of South African attitudes; hoping, of course, that it will be unnecessary to restrict, and thereby distort, the masses’ free expression of this sentiment.

The relationship between mother and daughter is arguably one of the most complex there is; the one I had with my own mother certainly was. More than twenty years have passed since her death and I can still hear her voice offering me advice and criticism in equal measure.

My mother, Leonie, taught English at London University’s Goldsmith’s College and used often to point out my shortcomings rather than applaud my successes although she would be excessively generous about my achievements behind my back. This was born both out of a fear that I might become smug (a terrible sin in her eyes) and to ward off any evil eye that might punish complacence with failure. It was also, I think, a complex psychological trick whereby if she undersold you, you’d over deliver.

“It’s difficult for children to imagine their mother and father as independent beings outside their role as parents”

My mother was impossible to ignore: vibrant, noisy and colourfully dressed in provocative low-cut tops and artfully slit skirts that revealed her shapely dancer’s legs, she said to people’s faces what others would say only behind their backs. It was often embarrassing to be her child. Her battle cry was “I’m also a person”, as if she were afraid her role as a mother might eclipse her individuality. As a result, she rode roughshod over my boundaries and I frequently felt that I had to fight for my own “personhood” to prevent her from overwhelming me.

My mother was born in a small town in the Karoo in the Western Cape province of South Africa. The youngest child of elderly parents, my mother’s father died when she was five and she lived ever after in a state of constant fear that the worst would happen. Her anxiety made her domineering but it’s a great testament to her self-control that she didn’t prevent me from having an adventurous youth. I lived in Soviet Russia for a year, travelled throughout Mexico, Spain and France on my own and lived in America to do my post-graduate degree.

After she died – suddenly and at the age of 58 – I felt terrible bitterness and rage at her for having left me. I was then a young mother with a baby of my own and was just beginning to understand her better. I’ve since learnt to forgive both her and myself. In a curious way I feel that I have absorbed her within me; she’s become my internal sounding board for the decisions I need to make. The sense she gave me that nothing I ever did was quite good enough has been both a curse and a blessing. It’s made me a compulsive over-achiever, but that’s meant I’ve had an interesting and varied life as a filmmaker, journalist and novelist.

For all the complexities of our relationship, it was a terrible loss when she died. Her death robbed me of the opportunity to heal our relationship, something I have perhaps tried to do since in my own role as a mother. I vowed to be a different sort of mother myself and when my mother’s voice threatens to erupt from my lips, I silence it, sometimes using my fingers to keep my mouth shut.
After she died, I often wished that she had left me a last message to fill the deafening silence she had left, something that would make her voice reverberate beyond the grave. I have wondered about the “person” she was; did she have secrets and if so, would I ever discover them? It’s difficult for children to imagine their mother and father as independent beings outside their role as parents and it’s only when you become a parent yourself that you begin to understand this and realise that they were simply doing the best they could without any real training for the job.

For all my determination to be a different mother to my own children, I choose to tell them many of the things my mother told me: never to settle for second best; to pursue their dreams and be the people they dare to be; to work hard and never give up. A voluble and opinionated woman, there wasn’t much my mother didn’t tell me, save this: how much I’d miss her once she’d gone.

Olivia Lichtenstein’s novel, Things Your Mother Never Told You is published by Orion, £12.99. She’d like to hear the things your mother never told you at www.thingsyourmothernevertoldyou.co.uk