Leeds MP's AI Avatar Struggles with Yorkshire Accent Test
Leeds MP Mark Sewards has ventured into uncharted political territory, launching an AI-powered digital assistant designed to streamline constituent communication. Billed as the first AI version of a Member of Parliament, this innovative tool aims to provide advice, support, and a direct channel to Sewards’ team, promising easier access to information for the residents of Leeds South West and Morley. However, as many with regional dialects can attest, the promise of seamless voice recognition often clashes with linguistic reality.
Developed by a local startup, the “Sewardsbot” website presents a virtual representation of the MP, complete with a friendly, Pixar-style cartoon avatar. This digital doppelgänger responds in Sewards’ own voice, ready to field questions from constituents – many of whom speak with the broad, distinctive accents of Leeds. The ambition is clear: to offer an always-available point of contact, reducing barriers to engagement with political representatives.
My interest was immediately piqued by how this digital assistant would navigate a conversation with someone from just a few miles beyond its constituency border, speaking with a deep-seated Yorkshire accent. Consciously summoning the vocal patterns of my upbringing, unadulterated by years in London or conversations with colleagues from different regions, I initiated a dialogue. The AI Mark Sewards greeted me promptly: “Hi. I’m AI Mark Sewards, Labour MP for Leeds South West and Morley, can I help you today?”
My opening, “Now then,” a ubiquitous Yorkshire greeting, appeared on the screen, but the bot failed to interpret it as an acknowledgment. Instead of responding in kind, it simply moved on, prompting me for my name and contact details. This initial misstep foreshadowed deeper challenges. The AI version of Sewards records all conversations, ostensibly to help his team identify key constituent concerns – a practice that has drawn some criticism.
To test its grasp of pressing issues, I immediately raised a topic on many minds: the unfolding crisis in Palestine. “Are you gonna do summat about Gaza? Y’ant got it right Mark, love,” I queried. The Sewardsbot demonstrated a broad understanding of “Gaza” but offered no explanation of the government’s stance, adhering to a pre-programmed neutrality. A disclaimer on the website had already warned: “AI Mark is a prototype digital assistant – this is a work in progress and not everything it says should be taken as fact. All responses are AI-generated.”
Further attempts to test its linguistic agility with colloquialisms proved even more challenging. Phrases like “nine while half five so I can’t be ont’ phone” (meaning “nine until half past five so I can’t be on the phone”) or expressing that I was “chuffed” (pleased) to have enjoyed a “chip butty in a nice breadcake” (a chip sandwich in a bread roll) largely stumped the system. Its transcription of these regionalisms descended into “unreadable gobbledegook.” Crucially, it failed to comprehend the glottal stop often used in front of words to signify “the,” though it generally managed to extract the core meaning.
Finally, I presented a scenario typical of an MP’s constituency mailbag, albeit one outside their direct remit: “Me neighbour’s lad’s blocked’t ginnel at’t back wi an old settee and he won’t do owt about it. If someone dun’t come for it, it’s going in’t road.” (My neighbour’s son has blocked the alleyway at the back with an old settee and he won’t do anything about it. If someone doesn’t collect it, it’s going into the road.) While a human MP would likely advise contacting the local council about fly-tipping, the AI recommended speaking to the police to report an abandoned vehicle – a clear misdirection.
This initial foray into AI-powered constituent services highlights both the potential and the considerable limitations of current technology. While the Sewardsbot offers a novel interface, its struggles with nuanced regional accents and its inability to provide contextually accurate advice for complex, real-world problems suggest that human parliamentary aides can breathe a sigh of relief. For now, their unique blend of empathy, local knowledge, and linguistic flexibility remains indispensable.