SPECTATOR'S NOTEBOOK

J. W. M. THOMPSON

I have always found that (contrary to the im- pression they are currently trying to create) most experienced politicians seem to dislike electioneering intensely: and who could blame them? The traditional methods of fighting an election campaign, consisting chiefly of canvassing and public speaking, are physically exhausting; while, even worse, the ingratiating bonhomie which is thought proper in a candidate must be a fearful strain to maintain for weeks on end. The suffering of fools gladly is not something likely to come without effort to the sort of person who makes his career in politics. The element of crude self-salesmanship may well be even less appealing.

Many eminent politicians, indeed, have frankly confessed their distaste for the whole business. Baldwin so hated electioneering that he felt it necessary to return to his hotel room each night and 'cleanse his mind', as he put it, by reading Homer or Horace. As- quith thought so little of the activity that he once entirely forgot he was due to address a meeting and was discovered by anxious assistants reading Wordsworth's Prelude. Both statesmen, I find, rise in my esteem when I contemplate these incidents.

To make matters worse from the politi- cian's point of view, there is scant evidence that all his expenditure of energy and pa- tience and time in an election campaign has much affect upon his prospects. 'Votes are cast for or against general party images and the candidate plays only a minor role in the formation of these loyalties and mental pic- tures': I quote from a recent academic study, Constituency Electioneering in Bri- tain, by D. A. Kavanagh, but any ex- perienced agent or party manager would (in private at least) say the same. The national voting pattern predominates. In all general elections since 1951, only eight seats have changed hands between Labour and Con- servative contrary to the direction of the overall swing.

A matter of ritual

It is no wonder, then, that candidates (as I have noticed in the past) tend to fall victims to a sense of helplessness. And Mr Kavanagh (to quote him again) notes that in 1966 only 4 per cent of voters attended public meetings, that the most suicidally assiduous of can- didates could not hope to 'meet' more than 10 per cent of the voters by canvassing, and that NOP discovered at the last election that fewer than half the electorate claimed to have read the local election addresses.

Indeed, one ex-me told a researcher after the 1966 campaign, 'You get out on the knocker and you see that the voters are like Pavlov's dogs; they are for you or against you, when you mention the party, and that's that. The candidates may as well go to bed for three weeks; the final swing would still be the same and they would have saved themselves a lot of trouble:

As a matter of fact there is one elec- tioneering activity which (in marginal seats) can be crucial : the organising of postal votes. Rather more than 2 per cent of the electorate vote by post, because of illness or absence from home, and plainly in a nicely- balanced contest this percentage can tip the scales. One estimate is that the Tories, who are usually far better than their opponents at hunting out these voters, probably gained a dozen seats last time in this way. But this, of course, is an organisation job, not one for the candidate.

No, the wise candiate realises that he is playing a central part in an important piece of national ritual, rather than engaged in a contest in which success depends upon the number of footslogging miles and firmly- shaken hands he can notch up. I doubt if a democratic system could_ remain in working order for very long without some such elaborate rite, in which the rulers of the land and their rivals have to be seen to be courting the favour of their masters, the peo- ple. If we all voted (more efficiently) by pressing a button, and no local electioneering campaigns took place, in a very short time the system would cease to be a democracy. The present arrangements remind the people (however bored) and the politicians (however weary) where the roots of power lie.

Gamesmanship

It has been another memorable week for international 'sport'. In Mexico an England football team lives under armed guard; in Italy another team from this country was in- volved in a game which had to be stopped in mid-play because of violence; South Africa has been thrown out of the Olympics; and we have had, of course, the continuing story of the South African cricket tour, which we have been encouraged to see as among the gravest threats of our times to the well-being of mankind. I have never wished so strongly that international sport could simply cease to exist.

There used to be a belief among well- meaning people that the increase of travel, and the consequent mixing together of different races, would produce international amity. We all know now that the more different races are exposed to each other, the more likely are hatred and violence to follow. In the same way there used to be an idealistic notion that international sport would lead to a new era of friendship be- tween peoples; and that has turned out to be an even greater delusion.

Blackballed

The expulsion of South Africa from the Olympics would surely be seen as thoroughly illogical if only the hysteria which surrounds the business were eliminated. (I, too, disap- prove of South Africa's internal policy as regards race and various other matters; but then, I can't think of a single country which doesn't do some things I dislike.) South Africa has been made a pariah nation while worse tyrannies are indulgently tolerated. There was a suggestion, I remember, follow- ing the invasion of Czechoslovakia, that the Soviet Union should be expelled from the Olympic Games. The case for this seemed very strong. Russia's offences against decent, civilised standards are infinitely greater than those of South Africa. Furthermore, Czech athletes called urgently for Russia's expul- sion. The movement made little progress, however. The butchers of free Czechoslo- vakia remain welcome members of the cosy _Olympic community and are even en- couraged to sit in judgment upon South Africans. I wouldn't be surprised if there were some Russian sportsman, somewhere, who felt about the Olympic Games as Marx (Groucho, I mean) once said he felt : 'I wouldn't want to belong to any club that would have me as a member.'

To the hustings

The close student of the contents page of the SPECTATOR (which has not altogether escaped attention in the immediate past) may note that in the present issue my name appears as acting editor. This is because Nigel Lawson will, for the next few weeks, be devoting his energies to contesting the marginal con- stituency of Eton and Slough. Nothing appearing in these pages between now and polling day, therefore, is to be attributed to the Conservative candidate in that romantic quarter, either for purposes of abuse or applause. For the rest of us at Gower Street, it's business as usual.