KNOWING ME, KNOWING YOU, AHA
Lloyd Evans embarks on a hopeless
search for himself among the babes at Antidote
IT's great to get in touch with your feelings, but what if they don't return your calls? Luckily, that's not a problem for me. My inner pluralist is already responding enthusiastically to the words I'm hearing as I take my seat at the annual conference of Antidote, the campaign for emotional literacy. Transforming society is our aim. Listening to each other is our method. In a big, airy lecture hall at London University, the chairman, Roger Graef, sounds the opening notes of the conference. 'This is an important occasion,' he declares, as the 200-strong audience settles into the stalls. We're looking forward to a day of dialogue, communication, workshops and biscuits.
The excellent Bea Campbell takes the stage: winsome, pixie-ish and skinny as a Twiglet. In her mauve trouser-suit she leads us briskly through the causes of crime in our society. The causes of crime in our society turn out to be men; skint men, in particular, whom she calls 'pauperised males' or 'marginalised masculinity' or — her favourite phrase — 'unmanned men'. This theory earns a hearty round of applause from my inner feminist. I have to admit that, watching her on TV, my inner couch-potato used to find her a disapproving, sour-faced old trout, but she comes across as engaging and good fun. Her blunt `ee-bye-eck' accent masks a wealth of rhetorical cun
ning. She has a lyricist's feel for the cadences of spoken English and she uses alliteration skilfully to render her soundbites more memorable. 'Masculinity,' she breathes, 'is either mastery or martyrdom.' And — goodness me! — how her slow, sly baritone stirs the Sappho within. At one point she surprises us by shifting the spotlight on to single mums. 'The morals of these mothers are to blame for this harvest of horrible men.' What? Is this Bea Campbell? It sounds more like Keith Joseph translated by Pam Ayres. Not that she has anything original to offer (according to my inner intellectual); it's just reheated scraps from the rich Freudian feast. She's serving up stir-fry social theory: psycho-bubble-and-squeak.
After a couple more speeches we break for coffee. Everyone sidles out into the lobby and we get slurping, nibbling and networking. Antidote has been around for five years, promoting self-awareness, diversity, dialogue and inner growth. But for a pressure group that stresses inclusivity, this is a horribly exclusive crowd: middle-class, middle-aged and — apart from a black woman and an Indian — entirely Middle England. A well-heeled bunch as well. Everyone seems to be an `-ise. Penologists are chatting to behaviourologists. Stress therapists are pouring mango juice for environmentalists. Educationists are offering Jammy Dodgers to child criminologists. I'm beginning to feel left out, not being one of them.
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