Why they hated Ann Widdecombe

There is a new ritual that accompanies the death of any public figure. Before the obituary writers have opened their laptops, strangers on social media have already served up their hot takes. Even death — once a moment for pause and reflection — is now a competition to display one’s own values.

So it was with the death of Ann Widdecombe. Alongside the genuine grief of friends, colleagues and those who admired her came the inevitable chorus of jeers from people who knew her only as a political opponent — a cartoonish villain.

On Sky News, Adam Boulton dismissed her as “an old maid”, reducing a life of public service to a cheap and lazy stereotype. He has since apologised. But the coarsest responses came elsewhere. On Bluesky, Widdecombe’s long career as parliamentarian, minister, broadcaster and writer was collapsed into a reductionist caricature: that of a thick-headed bigot whose death was something to celebrate. 

What those responses missed was the quality that most defined her: grace. While she was forthright and formidable, there was no cruelty to Ann Widdecombe.

As someone who once sat firmly on the political left, I think I understand why so many progressives found her so unsettling. It wasn’t just that they disagreed with her about Brexit, abortion or marriage but that she possessed a strength of conviction that meant that she could not be shamed, managed or bullied into submission. 

For a certain kind of activist, politics has become a perpetual hunt for demons

Of course, some left leaning commentators who debated with her in life have given heartfelt remembrances. But the grisly and celebratory comments from others point to a hollowing out of the moral centre of the mainstream left. 

For a certain kind of activist, politics has become a perpetual hunt for demons. Every opponent must be recast as a bigot, a fascist or a “-phobe” — stripped of their humanity before they can be safely despised. At the same time, a restless instinct to tear down every boundary and overturn every inherited norm has left little in the way of positive conviction. Outrage, rather than shared principles, becomes a source of identity and purpose. The search for injustice never ends, because without an enemy there is nothing left to bind the tribe together.

Widdecombe herself had long been scathing about the censorious tendencies of those who wear political opinions in place of personal morals: “The real extremists, the real nasties, are those who believe that those who dissent from their view have no right to do so and that the state itself should silence them.”

It is worth asking the question in return. Had Ann Widdecombe grown up as a digital native would she have responded to the death of her political opponents with mockery and celebration?

I doubt it. Her convictions rested on something deeper than applause from her own side. They came from faith — from an understanding that every person possesses an inherent dignity, even when profoundly mistaken. It is also worth reflecting that from gay marriage to immigration, Widdecombe was on the losing side. The confidence to hold unfashionable opinions, and the wit to defend them, made her not some cutesy national treasure but a genuine matriarch. To be resolute — to not need the approval of a crowd — is a rare and precious trait. 

That independence undoubtedly limited her political reach. It also explains why, years after she left Parliament, she remained one of the few politicians whose principles people could describe without hesitation. 

In a time that rewards conformity and performative outrage, this kind of independence has become almost incomprehensible. This explains why people mistook conviction for bigotry, and why even death could not persuade them to extend the grace that I suspect she would have afforded them.