Public Office (Accountability) Bill: Exclusion

Lord Knight of Weymouth Excerpts

Thursday 26th February 2026 Lords Chamber

[Lord Knight of Weymouth (Lab)]

My Lords, I thank the noble Baroness, Lady Jones, and congratulate her on bringing forward this important debate. It is a good Question. I agree with her that the Public Office (Accountability) Bill should be welcomed, but I will wait until Second Reading in this place before addressing the wider merits of the Bill.

Few matters strike more directly at the moral core of public life than the question of honesty, and few touch this House more directly than the standards we set for ourselves. Clause 11 of the Public Office (Accountability) Bill creates a new criminal offence, as we have heard, where a public authority or official acting in that capacity intentionally or recklessly misleads the public, knowing or being reasonably expected to know that such conduct is seriously improper.

The intention, as I understand it, is to ensure that those exercising the powers of the state are held to the highest standards of truthfulness. It would apply to government departments, local authorities, the police, the NHS, schools and others exercising public functions. Yet, as we have heard, Members of both Houses of Parliament are to be excluded. The Government’s reasoning is that the clause is aimed at those who wield executive authority rather than those in representative or political roles. But is that distinction defensible? Does this fly in the court of public opinion? Why should accountability in public life be limited only to those who administer the state rather than those who make its laws or shape its policies?

To be a Member of either House is to possess a particular form of public authority: the authority of trust. As recent events relating to Lord Mandelson have shown, parliamentarians are not above the system: we are the system in the eyes of the public. Our words, our votes and our conduct influence government action, policy direction and public belief. That is power by any reasonable definition, and it is power that depends entirely on trust.

As the clause stands, it applies to a government Minister acting in an executive capacity. In that case, Ministers face a legal duty not to seriously mislead the public, but their opposition shadow does not. That asymmetry is frankly bonkers and unfair on political incumbents. We are in an age of disinformation. Elected politicians who consistently, deliberately and cynically mislead the public should be subject to criminal sanctions in extremis.

Outside the protections rightly offered by parliamentary privilege, should we not be prepared to hold ourselves to account when serious or repeated dishonesty on matters of public concern causes demonstrable harm? The damage caused by misleading the public goes far beyond a single misstatement. It corrodes the foundations of confidence on which democratic governance rests. It also creates fertile ground for those who thrive on distrust and resentment: the bad-faith actors, who see cynicism as a political opportunity.

We have seen again and again how false narratives can take hold and persist: Hillsborough, the infected blood scandal, the Horizon cases and, more recently, the partygate affair. Each has shown how misinformation and evasion can compound tragedy, turning mistakes into long-term injustice. The Bill bears the “Hillsborough” name advisedly. It reminds us that misleading the public is not a victimless act.

The evidence of eroded trust in politicians in this context is stark. The 2024 British Social Attitudes survey found that 58% of people “almost never” trust politicians to tell the truth. Four in five said they were dissatisfied with how they were governed. The Electoral Commission’s 2025 findings were similar: only 14% expressed trust in politicians. According to the Constitution Unit, “being honest” ranks as the single most desirable quality in a parliamentarian, and nearly three-quarters of respondents support the removal of MPs who lie.

In that context, the amendment tabled in the Commons by my political friend Luke Myer MP deserves serious consideration. It would extend Clause 11 to Members of both Houses in a proportionate and carefully safeguarded way: not to stifle political disagreement, as the noble Baroness, Lady Jones, said, but to make it clear that those who knowingly and deliberately mislead the public cannot do so with impunity. That principle, I believe, commands widespread public support. To do otherwise confirms exactly the perception that has done such damage to trust in political institutions: that there is one rule for us and another for everybody else. That sentiment has helped drive the rising populist tide that every democracy now faces.

Mention of populism triggers me to say something about the valid concerns around freedom of expression. These are understandable, but in this case, I think, misplaced. The threshold in Clause 11 is intentionally high. It is directed only at conduct that is serious, significant and harmful. The clause includes a “reasonable excuse” defence and would require a demanding evidential standard. It is not about slips of the tongue, robust political rhetoric or contested interpretation; it is about substantiated, deliberate dishonesty causing real harm. In practice, prosecutions would likely be rare, but the deterrent effect of the law, and the statement of principles that it represents, is powerful.

Some may observe that the common-law offence of misconduct in public office, about which we have heard quite a lot lately, already covers such ground. In theory, yes, but, in practice, this offence is notoriously ill-defined and difficult to sustain. However, Clause 11, which has been carefully drafted, offers a clearer, modern test for the same fundamental idea: that the abuse of public trust is, at its most serious, a criminal matter.

In my view, this is about leading by example. We cannot credibly legislate for honesty in public life while exempting ourselves. If we do, we risk deepening the very scepticism that this Bill seeks to repair. The British public are remarkably forgiving of error; they are far less forgiving of hypocrisy. A Parliament that will not hold itself to its own standards invites precisely the accusations of entitlement and complacency that have weakened respect for institutions across the democratic world and would fuel the growing belief that we are an entitled, self-serving elite.

The restoration of trust will never come solely through codes of conduct or ministerial guidance. It will come through action: through showing that no one, however senior or unelected, is beyond accountability. Extending Clause 11 to Members of both Houses, with proper safeguards for privilege and freedom of expression, would mark a principled step in that direction. If honesty in public life is to be more than a slogan, we must be prepared to bind ourselves by it in law, and not just in aspiration.