Now, I am no angel when it comes to my own conduct. It is then that the temptation to release juicy WhatsApp exchanges to cause embarrassment, or worse, may become overwhelming. The trouble is that “minds” change, and an ally one month might become a frenemy the next. Politicians are a chatty lot by instinct, so we need no second invitation to “let it all hang out” and tell other “like-minded” colleagues what we really think. WhatsApp’s seductive marketing spiel about secure chatrooms has been swallowed almost hook, line and sinker across Westminster and Whitehall. But with the advent of WhatsApp and its siren promises of privacy, the wise caution attached to more prehistoric forms of electronic communication has gone missing in action.
The constant threat of Open Access and Freedom of Information requests provides us all with an added incentive not to be egregiously rude about an irritating constituent (at least not in writing). This paralysis of fear is surprising because for years colleagues have self-censored their emails, knowing that anything sent from a computer or handset could well end up in a newspaper. Across the Conservative benches, my colleagues are frantically scrolling through their tens of thousands of old exchanges (it is a wonder outside WhatsApp that the politicians find time to do anything else) to identify any injudicious or overly blunt communications with Matt Hancock. The Telegraph’s Lockdown Files prove that it’s no longer the cover-up that kills you, but the WhatsApp messages.
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