Politicians Calling

Even Michael Heseltine concedes that politicians are not what they used to be. Even I concede that I would rather have the Michael Heseltine’s of this world in the House of Commons than some of the nobody’s that we currently have to endure.
I agreed with almost nothing that the man ever said as he took his place on the green benches, whichever side of the house he was sitting. I enjoyed his banter and criticism of the Thatcher woman but was despondent when he did not always go for the jugular.
Although I have no commonality with his vision, I respect the fact that he holds strong on his fundamentalism and his beliefs. Whilst his idealism is a thousand miles apart from my own, I acknowledge that he has the right to believe and understand that he has a vocation in his political life.

Although he has long since departed from the Commons, he is still committed to doing something in the world. Admittedly, his various ventures are done for profit as well as altruism but one has to respect the fact that he does something, for example, his commitment to the Children and Young People Now magazine that gathers good practice and ideas on how to further guide and support the needs of our next generation.
I suspect that Heseltine doesn’t believe in all the initiatives that are commented on in this magazine but he funds the publication nonetheless, or at least he did.

Heseltine was on the television this week, commenting on the death of Michael Foot. He was sensible enough to admit that there was no similarity of thought between himself and the old man of Labour. He even went as far as to say that Foot was wrong but he respected him for what he was; a passionate English radical.

That is the headline that was used about Michael Foot yesterday, “Ninety-six years in the life of a passionate English radical” – a good headline in my opinion.

It may be a step too far but there is the possibility that Michael Foot really was quite close to being a self-actualised human being. (Socialists have a head start!!)
Obviously, I cannot make such a sweeping statement because I did not know him. I did not live with him and my recollections of his fabulous speeches are deeply entrenched in a memory bank of decades ago. However, the point is that he was not just a career politician. Admittedly, he reached the heights of Leader of the Party but that was not done purely out of self-ambition. He had an absolute passion to make a difference to the masses. This was not a hypothetical hopefulness. It was a real vision and he ardently wanted to see real change and real equality taking shape in this visionless, needy society.

He had other passions too.

He loved writing. He was an arduous reader and not just of politically related tomes. He was an avid football fan; not a follower of the great and successful teams but a smaller, some might say insignificant team from the lower levels of the league, who have probably never played in a cup final at Wembley and probably never will. (Apologies Pilgrim fans – my research has not led me to finding out whether you played on the hallowed ground in your 1980s FA cup semi final). He adored his beloved hometown and enjoyed all that the beautiful county of Devon had to offer.

It is sad that the one phrase that is always dashed out when talking about Michael Foot is the one attributed to Gerald Kaufman who stated that the 1983 manifesto was “the longest suicide note in history”. But it would be quite interesting to return to that now and read how much of the socialist elements within are relevant and needed in our society today. Maybe the “longest suicide note” will find its way into the world eventually.

For Foot was passionate. He believed. He believed in society and a shared responsibility. He believed in self-development and the need to enjoy special aspects of our lives. He believed in the rights of the individual and the importance of the self. He understood the ability to give his thoughts voice. He expressed his passion frequently, sometimes grumpily such was his determination and loathing of certain things that he saw and felt.
That passion is so vital and I wish to goodness there were more politicians on either side of the political spectrum who felt that passion and could convey it to the electorate.

Before I move on to other politicians, I would like to remember my one and only meeting with Michael Foot.

As a child, I was fortunate enough to spend many holidays in London. I loathe and detest much of what London is about but I also love it. It is my adopted home and I do think the connection with the place stems from these frequent childhood visits when we traipsed all over the city. The anecdotes and humour of many of our trips have gone into family folklore – like my mother’s inability to catch a bus in the right direction, or my father’s fury at my cousin’s inability to direct him in traffic. (There was a time when we went over Tower Bridge five times because B couldn’t find the route to direct my Dad to).
One such trip, we did the tour around the streets of Westminster. We stood on the steps of Number 10, something my children are not allowed to do. We walked up and down Whitehall, looking on in awe that our society was being shaped by the grey-coats and hats in these magnificent buildings and we walked towards the Houses of Parliament.

It was a warm February day. It must have been during half term and yet the place was open for business. Did they always have half term breaks?
We were just walking past the gates when this elderly gentleman got off the bus directly next to the building.
He flung himself onto the pavement, walking stick in one hand, newspaper in the other and marched towards his destination.
Nobody else in the family had noticed. They were busy staring up at the clock tower but I watched in amazement at this grey haired man; firstly because I recognized him as a significant person and one of us, but also because he was walking through this hallowed land in his slippers!
I turned to my cousin, siblings and mother to show them this ‘famous man’ from the television, commenting on his brown tartan footwear.

It was probably the first famous person I had ever seen. Years I had been coming down to London, assuming that because everyone lived there, I would bump into these famous folk on every street corner, and here I was standing next to the future leader of the party.
It is possibly why I have always held him dear to my heart, and why, in a stupid and unimportant way, another piece of my childhood died this week.

Yet this is not insubstantial.
It is this sort of encounter that keeps one in touch with these unattainable characters that shape our laws and create the way our society develops. They are actually real people and sometimes we tend to forget that.
Or more importantly, sometimes they forget that too.
I’m not sure you would see frontbenchers these days arriving to work on a red double decker. Security risks would not allow it. I wonder if Michael Foot would flout this and travel his own way nonetheless.

Another visit to London, some years later, also springs to mind. I was walking once more down the streets of Whitehall. It was a school visit and it must have been about 1982. We were on a school outing to the Imperial War Museum and for some reason we had been dropped off near Parliament.
I wandered up the street towards Downing Street, commenting that I sincerely hoped I did not bump into the Prime Minister because I would not be civil to her, and in those days, I was still way too conservative with a small C, and wouldn’t have wanted to upset or annoy my teachers. Goody two shoes me!

One of my teachers was walking directly next to me as we looked at all the departments up and down the street. He asked me questions, such as who is the Home Secretary and what did I think was happening in this department today. I think I surprised him with my knowledge, not just of the general knowledge political facts but my thoughts on who was around and what they were doing.

As we walked past the Cabinet office, who should appear but the Tarzan man himself. Flopping his blond hair around just like his Spitting Image puppet indicated he would, Heseltine stepped onto the street and strutted along.
I can’t say I was as awestruck as when I saw Foot but I did still get a little immature buzz at seeing a famous person and wanting to rush over to him to discuss the Falklands conflict.

The teacher I was with watched in amusement at my excitement which was not just about seeing a member of the cabinet but the whole passion of being here in the heart of politics. I remember quite distinctly him turning to me and pleading with me to take the A-level course in Government and Politics that he had just introduced to the sixth form menu. He wanted the vitality that I had to offer, apparently.
I declined sadly. I wanted to do sociology and my parents weren’t going to let me do two so called soft options. It was always going to be History, English and one other.

Still, I maintained a healthy interest throughout my sixth form and then on into my college days and career. Once more, this must stem from such visits and reiterates the importance of taking children and young people out of their classrooms, away from their text books and out so that they can feel and experience the reality of the political world. We still do not do this enough.

I’ve never really understood people who call themselves apolitical.
I appreciate that I have been more fortunate than most in that my family have always encouraged and created an environment where we constantly talked about real events, visions and ideology. I was also fortunate that I had teachers like my Whitehall companion who, despite me ignoring his pleas to join his group of merry politician makers, still met with me around school, inviting me to discuss the particular political agenda of the day.

By the strangest of coincidences, I have just been interrupted by a friend to remind me that Gordon Brown is talking to the Chilcot inquiry. He mentioned that there are only 284 people on line, listening live to our Prime Minister talking about his involvement in a war that has ostracised so many of the party faithful, that has created a chasm that is unable to be mended for some who feel disenfranchised by this particular action of our government. Where is everyone? They are not all at work.

I really do not know how you could be anything other than fascinated in politics. It isn’t as if it is just one subject. Politics is life; it is education, it is relationships, it is consideration, it is greed. Politics considers prejudice and faith. It tackles inequality and indoctrination. It reiterates inequality and indoctrination.
It is about economics and judgment. It is about war and peace. And it is a whole lot more besides.

We are entering a period of Purdah where local and national authorities are tongue-tied six weeks before an election. Local government officers and politicians are not allowed to do anything that could in any way shape or influence the way people might vote. A new school cannot be created in case it is this act that ensures a liberal vote over a conservative one. National bodies have to stop the Caxton press on documents that could actually help people just in case the receipt of such writing could be seen as the deciding factor for the floating voter.
Yet they are allowed to spread their lies, half-truths and inaccuracies through manifestos and party political broadcasts. How bizarre is that?

Purdah is a weird state but it does show how everything links back to politics and if people think that politics does not enter their lives, they are sadly very wrong indeed.
Politics is life.

And this brings me back to the purpose of my writing today.
We are approaching a general election where the turnout is going to be tragically low. For those of us who are deeply interested, this is an exciting time. We may have the first hung parliament for nearly forty years. The Conservatives should be sweeping the board, yet their decline in the polls show the opposite. This government is loathed by so many of all different political persuasions and yet people will still vote for Labour out of perpetual hope, conviction, history or even apathy to consider other voices.
The electoral system does not enable us to vote in the way that we would like. The bias is established and seems unlikely to be overturned in the near future.

Why are people not interested?

We’ve had the fiasco of MPs expenses and we have seen a tirade of the hopeless and the helpless who vehemently defend their greed with incongruous justification.

And as I write, I am listening to a man who may be passionate about his politics but has lost the vision and has been clouded in far too many decisions that it is unlikely that he is going to maintain his position at Number 10.

I return to Mr. Foot and Heseltine. I remember the cabinet scene from Spitting Image when Thatcher was ordering some food.
Waitress: Would you like to order, Sir?
Thatcher: Steak please
Waitress: How would you like it?
Thatcher: Raw
Waitress: And what about the vegetables?
Thatcher: Oh? They’ll have the same as me…..

Only they weren’t vegetables, were they? They were clever, powerful personalities who just happened to stand for moreorless everything that I despised and disagreed with.
Tebbit and his bike, Cecil and his lover, Lawson and his pot belly, Clark and his charisma.
They all had something. They were all people of substance, however much you disliked their policies.
They were all quite passionate and full of character, otherwise Spitting Image couldn’t have had such fun with them.
On the other side, there were truly great people. I could and did sit and watch Denis Skinner sitting in his hotseat in parliament, subtly waiting for his time to pounce down the necks of both the opposition and his own party. There was the truly monumentous Benn, who on opening his mouth stopped me in my tracks in the same way that Botham used to empty bars as he waved his bat towards the crease.
Kinnock, Smith, even Hattersley made me think, made me consider.
Even the runaways of the David’s and the Shirley’s were worth listening too.

Is it just a childhood memory that makes these people seem so more viable and real than the current collection of bods?

It is ironic really that people are concerned that politics and voting is turning into a personality test.
The contest is between Brown and Cameron with a little bit of Clegg thrown in for good measure, yet these ‘personalities’ are miniscule compared to the wealth on offer a decade or so ago.

Labour will probably lose the next election. There will then be the discussion on who is emerging to lead the party into the recovery that it so desperately needs. But who is there out there?
As long as I can remember, there has always been a clear candidate for succession, often more than one but now, I fear for the future because I cannot see that significant person emerging.

There is going to be a huge amount of new politicians whoever wins. The MP from my youth is standing down after 36 years in parliament; another reminder that my childhood has long since gone.
My only hope is that they show the type of passion and understanding that Bruce George has done for his constituents.
My only hope is that some personable, understanding, compassionate, thoughtful, intelligent people emerge to take politics into the 21st century in a way that is meaningful and gives energy, equity and vitality back to governance.

Politics is life. Life is people. People, good people, people of stature and significance are needed.

The next few weeks are going to be interesting.