Four decades after the creation of Yes Minister, the political landscape remains eerily familiar, still dominated by the allure of power rather than the pursuit of meaningful change. But here’s where it gets controversial: is politics truly about serving the public, or has it become a game of power for power’s sake? Let’s dive in.
When Tony Jay and I were praised for the prescience of Yes Minister, we humbly accepted the compliments. Yet, the reason the series feels timeless—even 40 years later—is that the core dynamics of politics rarely evolve. While writing Yes, Prime Minister in 1986, I visited the Daily Telegraph’s Fleet Street offices to explore headlines from 1956. What I found was striking: the issues were virtually unchanged. The Middle East was in turmoil (the Suez crisis), governments were caught in lies, and the ‘special relationship’ with the U.S. was strained. Inflation fears, refugee crises, and questions about the BBC’s independence dominated the news. Sound familiar? And this is the part most people miss: history doesn’t just repeat itself—it reruns on loop.
Take last month’s story about Education Secretary Bridget Phillipson. She vowed to protect academic freedom of speech, but 370 university professors, including three Nobel laureates, accused her of shelving the issue. Fans of Yes Minister know that a minister’s intentions often collide with bureaucratic inertia. My hunch? Some officials weren’t exactly heartbroken to see professors ‘cancelled’ and quietly obstructed progress. It’s a classic case of power dynamics at play—even when the stakes are high.
Before Yes Minister, civil servants were caricatured as bumbling bureaucrats in bowler hats. We flipped the script, revealing Whitehall as a hub of 3,000 highly educated, discreetly powerful individuals who quietly ran the country. Politicians loved the series because it gave them cover, shifting blame to the ‘system.’ But here’s the twist: we didn’t uncover this reality—Richard Crossman did. His Diaries of a Cabinet Minister exposed the inner workings of government, leading to a landmark legal battle over press freedom. It was our first major inspiration for the show.
In Crossman’s diaries, his private secretary famously says, ‘Yes, Minister,’ while meaning the opposite. When Crossman faces an overflowing inbox, the secretary advises transferring everything to the outbox—letting the system handle it. This revelation confirmed what we suspected: there was a comedy goldmine in the absurdity of governance. Yet, it’s important to clarify: Yes Minister wasn’t about politics; it was about government. Politics, at its best, is a clash of ideas to improve society. At its worst? A power grab disguised as leadership.
Our protagonist, Jim Hacker, embodies this paradox. Like many politicians, he starts with noble intentions but gets entangled in the ‘greasy pole’ of power. As Graham Greene’s ‘whisky priest,’ he compromises his values to climb the ladder. Why? Because power becomes the goal, not the means. Here’s a thought-provoking question: If winning elections becomes the ultimate prize, does it matter what you stand for? As Charles M. Schulz famously quipped, ‘Winning isn’t everything, but losing isn’t anything.’
I’m Sorry, Prime Minister is now playing at the Apollo Theatre in London until May 9, followed by a UK tour. It’s a hilarious yet sobering reminder of how little has changed—and how much we still need to question. What do you think? Is politics still just a game of power, or is there room for genuine change? Let’s debate in the comments!
