Politicians lie. In other news, the sky is blue, and water is wet.
Lying in politics isn’t new, it’s expected. In fact, as Ralph Keyes wrote in The Post-Truth Era (2004), we live in a time where deception has become routine, not just among politicians but within the public itself. From Lenin’s infamous mantra, “A lie told often enough becomes the truth,” to Nixon’s refutation of Watergate, to Bill Clinton’s carefully crafted denial about his affair with Monica Lewinsky, the list goes on. Deception has always been a tool of power. It wins elections. It maintains control.
Today, however, rising populism and public distrust of elites have sparked a new demand: punishment for political dishonesty. Many believe that criminalising lies in office could restore integrity to democracy. I argue the opposite. Lying in politics is not an anomaly in the system; it is a feature of it. Attempts to punish political lies misunderstand the nature of politics, overestimate our ability to define deception, and risk doing more harm than good. This essay will argue that while political lying is morally troubling, trying to eliminate it through punishment is both unrealistic and unfeasible.
I acknowledge, nonetheless, that my views are not representative of the wider public. In a 2021 poll, 76% of Britons supported the introduction of new legislation to criminalise the deliberate lying of elected officials. This indicates a demand for measures to address dishonesty, particularly during a time when populist leaders have gained considerable support by attacking a perceived ‘corrupt’ and ‘deceitful’ establishment.
While I am fundamentally opposed to this idea, I recognise that the falsehoods propagated by politicians are often self-serving attempts to manipulate public perception, ultimately undermining the very foundation of our democracy. This is because the essence of democracy lies in empowering informed citizens to make educated political choices and in holding elected officials accountable. But how can we ensure accountability when representatives conceal and distort their failures, unjustly attack their opponents, and exaggerate their accomplishments through lies? Such behaviour has the potential to mislead and manipulate voters in order to gain or cling to power through undemocratic means.
However, while this line of reasoning is morally honourable and I commend it, it is entirely flawed in practice. Because, at the end of the day, what even is a lie? “Defining a lie in a political context is challenging,” said Juliet Swann of Transparency International UK, adding that “Politics is built on word play,” and subjective interpretations of facts and events make it exceedingly difficult to police and define.
Take Trump as an example. He is known for citing blatant lies, such as claiming that Zelensky is a dictator, that the 2020 presidential election was “rigged,” and, most famously, that undocumented immigrants in Springfield, Ohio are “eating dogs and cats” on the debate stage last year. However, Trump is also skilful at lying in ways that are equally deceitful but far more covert. For example, at a rally in Detroit in June last year, he stated that, during his first term, his administration “achieved the lowest African American unemployment rate and the lowest African American poverty rate ever recorded.” This claim is, in part, true: the US under Trump did reach record lows in Black poverty and unemployment at the time. However, he selectively omits the fact that both records have since been surpassed by the Biden Administration.
Is this a lie? The records he references are factually correct. Should he be punished for not disclosing that those records have since been broken? What if he genuinely wasn’t aware?
Moreover, it can be argued that politicians should not face punishment for dishonesty as the fault lies (at least in part) with the public for placing their trust in them. Dr. Ronald E. Riggio, a psychology professor who specialises in deception and leadership, explains why we often struggle to recognise when politicians are lying. This difficulty partly stems from our inherently trusting nature. Human beings are notably poor at detecting deception due to a “trusting bias,” which leads us to automatically accept what others say, particularly when those individuals are in positions of leadership. This inclination is heightened unless we develop a learned mistrust of certain leaders, allowing politicians to realise they can frequently deceive the public without consequence.
Additionally, Dr. Riggio points out that our lack of vigilance in identifying lies from our leaders can be attributed to cognitive laziness. We often refrain from engaging in the mental or physical effort required to question or fact-check the claims made by politicians, operating under the assumption that “if the politicians are driving the bus, they must know where they’re going.” So how can we advocate for accountability and transparency if we’re mentally too complacent to correct them? After all, Googling “Is my MP lying?” won’t exactly give you a dopamine rush.
Perhaps accountability is a two-way street: we should not only hold our leaders accountable but also hold ourselves accountable. The persistence of lies and deception can be traced back to our inability to recognise them, making us, in some sense, enablers of this behaviour.
The primary reason I believe leaders should not face consequences for lying, however, is that politics itself would not exist without such deception. Just as surgeons require precision and lawyers must possess conviction, deceit is a fundamental aspect of politics. For instance, leaders often abide by a code of ethics that emphasises the idea that “the ends justify the means.” Consequently, a leader’s objectives—such as being elected, retaining power, and advocating for legislative change—can be pursued by any means necessary, as long as those goals are ultimately achieved.
While this perspective may seem disheartening, it reflects the political reality we live in. If we actually penalised leaders for deliberately misleading the public, Parliament and Congress would end up emptier than a politician’s promise.
On the eve of the 2020 Presidential election alone, Trump made 503 false or misleading claims in a desperate bid to secure re-election. Across his four years in office, he accumulated over 30,500 untruths. While his behaviour is often labelled extreme, this phenomenon isn’t limited to Trump or the Republican Party; it extends to elected officials across the political spectrum, in every nation. This isn’t a problem that can be solved simply by imposing punishments and calling it a day; it’s a deeply embedded, arguably unchangeable feature of the democratic system itself.
I’m sure many would be quick to argue that “punishing these actions would undoubtedly resolve the issue.” But would it really? Ben Sixsmith of The Critic contends that “a ban on strictly demonstrable lies would not transform a culture of political dishonesty,” suggesting that the underlying disingenuousness is “much deeper and more invasive.” I find this assertion compelling as, for centuries, politics has been less about honest public service and more about strategic manoeuvring in the pursuit of power. A game, not a moral calling.
A survey conducted last year by YouGov for the Fabian Society revealed that 57% of the public believe politicians “seldom give straight answers to straight questions on radio and TV,” while 36% asserted that politicians are “more interested in scoring political points than doing the right thing.” These findings indicate that politics, as a whole, is perceived as a dishonest and corrupt endeavour, reflecting the blatant misconduct of our leaders. However, this data also illustrates that the core issue in politics cannot simply be defined as ‘lying’ and cannot be resolved through a blanket ban on deceitful statements. Instead, it encompasses a broader sense of disconnection from government decision-making and the game-playing mentality of politicians in their relentless pursuit of power and control.
Moreover, even if punishments were enacted, what real benefit would they provide? It is clear that politicians frequently engage in deception, and such measures would likely lead to a barrage of accusations, trials, and reprimands. This, in turn, would only exacerbate public mistrust. The media would amplify images and narratives of leaders being accused of lying, drawing excessive attention to the issue and potentially resulting in widespread unrest and a significant erosion of public confidence in the government as a whole.
To sum up, political deception is ingrained in the structure of government. The natural tendency to penalise dishonesty is reasonable, particularly in a time of disinformation and populist indignation, but it ignores a basic reality: politics has always involved deception and always will. Though they may appear admirable, attempts to make lying illegal are ultimately futile, practically impossible, and unclear from a legal standpoint. Instead of striving for the unachievable ideal of perfect truth in politics, we need to own up to the part we play in allowing deceit through complacency and blind faith. Vigilant citizens are just as important to democracy as honest leaders. Trying to eliminate lying from politics won’t purify the system; it will only mask deeper issues of disconnection and disillusionment. The real challenge isn’t punishing liars, it’s rebuilding a political culture where truth still matters, and where voters are informed and empowered enough to tell the difference.
