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The great unvetted public locked out as party leaders tour sanitised Britain The great unvetted public locked out as party leaders tour sanitised Britain
(about 2 hours later)
This election is being run as a pseudo-event. Back in the 1960s, the writer Daniel Boorstin defined a pseudo-event as one that would not happen if the cameras were not there. It’s almost as if he could foresee the day when journalists would travel to Somerset to watch George Osborne smile at a vacuum cleaner.This election is being run as a pseudo-event. Back in the 1960s, the writer Daniel Boorstin defined a pseudo-event as one that would not happen if the cameras were not there. It’s almost as if he could foresee the day when journalists would travel to Somerset to watch George Osborne smile at a vacuum cleaner.
So far, this has been an election staged in out-of-town business parks, cleared factory floors, deserted building sites, and town halls filled with pre-screened party supporters. The list of venues to which the party leaders are bussed or flown satirises itself: a heavily-guarded empty barn, a facility that makes virtual reality suites, a rural hedgehog farm. On Wednesday, the Lib Dems retreated to a woodland adventure centre, prompting a return to that old thought experiment: if Nick Clegg says something political in a forest, does he make a sound?So far, this has been an election staged in out-of-town business parks, cleared factory floors, deserted building sites, and town halls filled with pre-screened party supporters. The list of venues to which the party leaders are bussed or flown satirises itself: a heavily-guarded empty barn, a facility that makes virtual reality suites, a rural hedgehog farm. On Wednesday, the Lib Dems retreated to a woodland adventure centre, prompting a return to that old thought experiment: if Nick Clegg says something political in a forest, does he make a sound?
These are not anything that could be described as civic spaces. In fact, in civic terms they are non-spaces, the sort of places you might expect to end up if you took a wrong turn at a roundabout in a vast international airport, with its strange network of goods vehicle roads and utilitarian hangars. Taxi drivers who take me the long distances from town centre railway stations out to these remote venues have to plug the coordinates into their satnavs. They stare at the map, and ask what could possibly be bringing me here.These are not anything that could be described as civic spaces. In fact, in civic terms they are non-spaces, the sort of places you might expect to end up if you took a wrong turn at a roundabout in a vast international airport, with its strange network of goods vehicle roads and utilitarian hangars. Taxi drivers who take me the long distances from town centre railway stations out to these remote venues have to plug the coordinates into their satnavs. They stare at the map, and ask what could possibly be bringing me here.
I suppose the honest – and impossibly wanky - answer is: a decades-long war of attrition between politicians and the media.I suppose the honest – and impossibly wanky - answer is: a decades-long war of attrition between politicians and the media.
Each of the “public meetings” I have attended have required people’s names to be on a list to get in. I saw a woman showing her passport to those running the door at Tony Blair’s event in Sedgefield.Each of the “public meetings” I have attended have required people’s names to be on a list to get in. I saw a woman showing her passport to those running the door at Tony Blair’s event in Sedgefield.
In Dudley, Ukip were charging their pre-screened audience £5 a ticket, for the privilege of submitting any questions they may wish to ask to a moderator, who selected the ones he liked and declined them even the opportunity of being allowed to read them out themselves.In Dudley, Ukip were charging their pre-screened audience £5 a ticket, for the privilege of submitting any questions they may wish to ask to a moderator, who selected the ones he liked and declined them even the opportunity of being allowed to read them out themselves.
On a vast deserted Watford building site, sanitised even of construction workers, we looked at Clegg looking at some architect’s drawings. Then we drove to Cardiff and waited outside a factory test kitchen while he made a pancake. On a vast deserted building site in Watford, sanitised even of construction workers, we looked at Clegg looking at some architect’s drawings. Then we drove to Cardiff and waited outside a factory test kitchen while he made a pancake.
The strange thing is, Nick Clegg is good with people. In fact, many of the big hitters from all the parties are, whatever the frothingly anti-politics brigade may reflexively wish to think. But they seem terrified of going near them. An unscripted encounter with the electorate has rocketed up the danger list and is now apparently regarded as the highest risk activity in which a leader could indulge.The strange thing is, Nick Clegg is good with people. In fact, many of the big hitters from all the parties are, whatever the frothingly anti-politics brigade may reflexively wish to think. But they seem terrified of going near them. An unscripted encounter with the electorate has rocketed up the danger list and is now apparently regarded as the highest risk activity in which a leader could indulge.
Cocooned inside Grimsby town hall on Wednesday, Nigel Farage’s staff appeared to be having some sort of collective breakdown about the presence outside of fewer than 30 peaceful protesters (who were surrounded by at least eight police and liaison officers). There were openly nervous conflabs. Someone muttered: “We’ll have to cancel the pub visit”. The man of the people himself looked badly shaken. Farage is not quite at the Saddam Hussein/Jacko stage of having lookalikes to put people off the scent, but there was some ludicrous decoy play of a blacked out Land Rover pulling up out front, while Farage was bundled out of a back door. Why? Because some 17-year-olds with exciting haircuts might shout at him? Cocooned inside Grimsby town hall on Wednesday, Nigel Farage’s staff appeared to be having some sort of collective breakdown about the presence outside of fewer than 30 peaceful protesters - who were surrounded by at least eight police and liaison officers. There were openly nervous conflabs. Someone muttered: “We’ll have to cancel the pub visit.” The man of the people himself looked badly shaken. Farage is not quite at the Saddam Hussein/Jacko stage of having lookalikes to put people off the scent, but there was some ludicrous decoy play of a blacked-out Land Rover pulling up out front, while Farage was bundled out of a back door. Why? Because some 17-year-olds with exciting haircuts might shout at him?
The terror among all party election strategists is said to be a repeat of the Mrs Duffy moment, so-called after Gordon Brown’s unfortunate encounter with a voter back in 2010. And yet, the Mrs Duffy moment was not in itself especially newsworthy. That was merely a Labour supporter buttonholing Brown and giving him a piece of her mind. What made it explosive was Brown’s secret thoughts on the matter, recorded in his car on the microphone he’d forgotten he was wearing. That, quite understandably, overshadowed the last week of the campaign. Without it, so what? Politicians could – certainly should – be able to withstand plenty of Mrs Duffys having a cross word with them along the campaign trail. The terror among all party election strategists is said to be a repeat of the Mrs Duffy moment, so-called after Gordon Brown’s unfortunate encounter with a voter back in 2010. And yet, the Mrs Duffy moment was not in itself especially newsworthy. It was merely a Labour supporter buttonholing Brown and giving him a piece of her mind. What made it explosive was Brown’s secret thoughts on the matter, recorded in his car on the microphone he’d forgotten he was wearing. That, quite understandably, overshadowed the last week of the campaign. Without it, so what? Politicians could, and certainly should be able to withstand plenty of Mrs Duffys having a cross word with them along the campaign trail.
This sort of test of a leader’s mettle used to be par for the course, back when public meetings really were public meetings. Harold Wilson was a masterful putter-down of unmannerly interrupters. Others were less so – Clive Anderson has written of Roy Jenkins stomping out of a hall after being heckled in 1970. These days, it is always the hecklers that are removed as a matter of course – on the incredibly small chance they even make it through the cordon sanitaire. This sort of test of a leader’s mettle used to be par for the course, back when public meetings really were public meetings. Harold Wilson was a masterful putter-down of unmannerly interrupters. Others were less so. Clive Anderson has written of Roy Jenkins stomping out of a hall after being heckled in 1970. These days, it is always the hecklers that are removed as a matter of course, on the incredibly small chance they even make it through the cordon sanitaire.
Yet they used to be everywhere. In the 1966 British general election, the American new wave director Joseph Strick made a fascinating and highly recommended documentary called The Hecklers, which recorded uninvited interjections from the public at election events which he filmed from the back of the hall. Yet they used to be everywhere. During the 1966 British general election, the US new wave director Joseph Strick made a fascinating and highly recommended documentary called The Hecklers, which recorded uninvited interjections from the public at election events which he filmed from the back of the hall.
Searching the web for extracts of Strick’s film to which I could link in this article, I see that the brilliant documentary maker Adam Curtis was asking about heckling on behalf of the director back in 2010. Strick had contacted him, keen to make another film about heckling in that year’s British election, but wondered whether people even did it anymore. Curtis threw the question open to readers of his blog.Searching the web for extracts of Strick’s film to which I could link in this article, I see that the brilliant documentary maker Adam Curtis was asking about heckling on behalf of the director back in 2010. Strick had contacted him, keen to make another film about heckling in that year’s British election, but wondered whether people even did it anymore. Curtis threw the question open to readers of his blog.
Five years late – and five years after Strick’s death that summer - I can answer it for him on the basis of my experience in this campaign so far: no, because party leaders are almost always only among supporters. In some cases, only among their own activists. The rare exceptions are events like the factory visits, where they are placed before handpicked groups of factory workers. But which of those is going to make a scene under the watchful eyes of their bosses? Five years late, and five years after Strick’s death that summer, I can answer it for him on the basis of my experience in this campaign so far: no, because party leaders are almost always only among supporters. In some cases, only among their own activists. The rare exceptions are events like the factory visits, where they are placed before handpicked groups of factory workers. But which of those is going to make a scene under the watchful eyes of their bosses?
Almost the last memorable “real life” encounters between party leaders and voters were in 2005, as part of the what Tony Blair’s spin doctors called “the masochism strategy”, reminding us that meeting the electorate really is an exquisite form of torture. Those usefully chastening moments were widely seen as a success for Blair. Almost the last memorable “real life” encounters between party leaders and voters were in 2005, as part of what Tony Blair’s spin doctors called “the masochism strategy”, reminding us that meeting the electorate really is an exquisite form of torture. Those usefully chastening moments were widely seen as a success for Blair.
But surely the ultimate positive exampled of politicians going walkabout somewhere real is last year’s Scottish referendum. I didn’t cover that, but those who did – and friends who were there – tell me that the leaders and big beasts were out on the streets and available for interaction. Can it be a coincidence that that campaign invigorated politics in a way many had imagined impossible? But surely the ultimate positive example of politicians going walkabout somewhere real is last year’s Scottish referendum. I didn’t cover that, but those who did, and friends who were there, tell me the leaders and big beasts were out on the streets and available for interaction. Can it be a coincidence that the campaign invigorated politics in a way many had imagined impossible?
Yet it feels a million miles away from the current electoral offering. At many Tory events, specially selected activists are made to stand behind Boris or Cameron or whoever is speaking, holding aloft campaign slogans. In the still pictures which make the news, it looks as though the politician’s speech is rousing a crowd of supporters to wave placards with riotous approval. In real life, this dynamism is a sham. The supporters are static, posed in bizarre tableaux vivants, their arms presumably getting more and more tired.Yet it feels a million miles away from the current electoral offering. At many Tory events, specially selected activists are made to stand behind Boris or Cameron or whoever is speaking, holding aloft campaign slogans. In the still pictures which make the news, it looks as though the politician’s speech is rousing a crowd of supporters to wave placards with riotous approval. In real life, this dynamism is a sham. The supporters are static, posed in bizarre tableaux vivants, their arms presumably getting more and more tired.
The effect of this – and indeed of all the parties’ stagey micromanagement - is to do a terrible disservice to these spectators, who are, after all, the voters. Placed in these ultra-managed situations they cease to really be people. They become people-effect wallpaper. Meanwhile, politicians withdraw from civic spaces in favour of their own kitchens. Unless this way of doing business is radically altered, we are reaching a stage where it would be less embarrassing or absurd to green-screen elections. The effect of this, and indeed of all the parties’ stagey micromanagement, is to do a terrible disservice to the spectators, who are, after all, the voters. Placed in these ultra-managed situations they cease to really be people. They become people-effect wallpaper. Meanwhile, politicians withdraw from civic spaces in favour of their own kitchens. Unless this way of doing business is radically altered, we are reaching a stage where it would be less embarrassing or absurd to green-screen elections.