Ann Widdecombe was murdered. Some of her political opponents greeted the news not with horror, but with barely concealed satisfaction. Peter Tatchell announced her death by listing her opposition to reforms concerning homosexuality and branding her a “BIGOT!” Adam Boulton described her as a “spinster” and an “old maid” and discussed her virginity. Heather Herbert, a trans activist, former political candidate and Aberdeen University employee, expressed the hope that Widdecombe had suffered an “extremely painful death”. Tatchell and Boulton later apologised; Herbert reportedly remained unapologetic.
It would be inaccurate to claim that this was the response of the entire political Left; many of Widdecombe’s opponents responded with genuine horror and sympathy. An influential section of the Left, however, hates orthodox Catholicism and – increasingly – the people who believe it. They regard us not as fellow citizens who have reached mistaken conclusions, but as morally contaminated people whose presence in public life is itself a danger. The reactions to Widdecombe’s death made that quite clear.
She had been a Conservative minister, a Brexiteer and, later, a prominent figure in Reform UK; she was combative and sometimes abrasive. But the peculiar moral disgust directed at her by this loud minority was inseparable from her Catholic convictions. She opposed abortion, assisted suicide, same-sex marriage and the ordination of women – indeed, the Church of England’s decision to ordain women was the final impetus for her conversion to Catholicism in 1993.
In other words, she believed what Catholics are supposed to believe. That is the uncomfortable implication for Catholics who reassure themselves that Widdecombe was simply unusually outspoken: the things she said were not merely her opinions. She did not invent the sanctity of unborn life, the nature of marriage or the male priesthood. You might state these things more delicately, speak in softer tones and surround every affirmation with the required pastoral qualifications, but eventually you must either affirm them or deny them.
This is why the reaction matters beyond Widdecombe herself. If the beliefs for which she was despised were ordinary Catholic doctrines rather than personal eccentricities, then the contempt directed at her was also a warning to anyone who shares them. The demand is not really that we become nicer Catholics, but that we cease to be orthodox ones.
The murder is now being treated as a targeted attack, with counter-terrorism police leading the investigation. Investigators are examining possible political motives, including left-wing, anarchist or single-issue extremism, but no motive has yet been established. It would therefore be irresponsible to claim that Widdecombe was murdered because of her Catholic beliefs, or that those who celebrated her death bear responsibility.
The reaction nevertheless tells us something about the atmosphere surrounding it. There are people who believe that harm inflicted upon ideological opponents does not merit the usual degree of compassion. They did not necessarily want Widdecombe murdered, but once she was dead they could not resist explaining why the world was better without her.
We saw much the same after Charlie Kirk was assassinated last year. Once again, the murder of a prominent conservative became an occasion for some to explain why the victim’s opinions placed him outside the normal circle of sympathy. A culture which habitually describes its opponents as dangerous, hateful and beyond the pale should not be surprised when people begin to treat their deaths as good news.
Catholics should understand what this means. There is a natural Christian reluctance to speak in terms of enemies; we are commanded to love our enemies, pray for those who persecute us and forgive injuries. But those commandments plainly assume the existence of enemies. Christianity requires us to love them; it does not require us to pretend they are our friends.
Christ instructed His disciples to be innocent as doves and wise as serpents. The two belong together. Innocence without wisdom is not holiness, but political helplessness.
Although often treated as controversial, the so-called “friend–enemy distinction” in political theory is clearly at work here. It does not require personal hatred; it asks whether the opposing side is willing to coexist with you at all. Political life is not always a polite seminar among people who share the same ends. A reasonable opponent thinks you are mistaken and can be argued with; an ideological enemy regards your continued presence or influence as an evil to be eliminated. Sometimes one side wishes to preserve a way of life that the other is determined to abolish.
The modern Left understands this far better than most Christians and conservatives do. Its activists acquire institutions, enforce ideological discipline and exclude those considered dangerous, recognising that institutional control determines which beliefs can be expressed without punishment.
Meanwhile, Christians recite the line, commonly attributed to Voltaire, that although we disagree with what our opponents say, we would defend to the death their right to say it. There is something noble in that instinct. But unilateral tolerance is not a political strategy. Sometimes “I disagree with you, but I would die for your right to say it” ends with us dead and our enemies in power.
You can debate with someone who thinks you are mistaken. You cannot meaningfully debate with someone who wants you silenced, ruined or dead, because he is not participating in a common search for truth. The immediate duty is therefore to prevent such people from obtaining power over us.
That does not mean violence, illegality or a suspension of charity. It means voting against them, refusing to appoint them, exposing what they believe, organising against them and building institutions they cannot capture. It means distinguishing between a reasonable opponent and an ideological enemy, and ceasing to reward open hatred of Christians with positions of power. A person who rejoices in a political murder has disqualified himself from being entrusted with power over those he despises.
Not everyone on the Left hates Catholics. But Catholics must stop pretending that nobody does. We should pray for those who hate us and refuse to imitate them; we should never delight in their suffering or forget that they, too, are made in the image of God. But we should also keep them as far from power as lawful democratic action permits.
The liberal compact depends upon reciprocity. It cannot survive when one side regards tolerance as a principle and the other as a temporary instrument. Catholics who fail to recognise this will continue defending the rights of people who are patiently acquiring the power to remove theirs.
We must remain innocent as doves. But it is long past time that we became wise as serpents.
