POLITICS
For a second or two, one's crust of cynicism was almost penetrated by a 42-year-old ex-guitarist
BORIS JOHNSON
You may think it pathetic even to suc- cumb for an instant to the blandishments of a socialist politician; and indeed hitherto one has always been able to bat such doubts aside. But there one was, feet aching, standing for an hour and three min- utes in the rosy dawn of the Labour confer- ence in Brighton, perhaps ten yards from the orating Labour leader, when one found oneself briefly engaged in a sort of internal struggle.
For a second or two — not much more than that, honestly — the crust of cynicism was almost penetrated by the appeal of a 42-year-old ex-guitarist who is able to quote Mr Pete Townsend of The Who in an important political speech, and not sound pretentious. One cannot help but warm to the way Mr Blair ruthlessly exploits his youth. It is a trick Mr Major, whatever his other comforting qualities, cannot match. Gormless, drivelling Young Labour, now outnumbering the Young Tories by five to one, watched in admiration.
Hard-eyed feminists in burgundy suits were weeping like an Alabama congrega- tion hearing of O.J. Simpson's acquittal. Tory though one is to the core, one could not deny the man's skill in combining fresh- ness with a bug-eyed moral authority. If some Tory minister bangs on next week in Blackpool about 'morality', and then per- orates about 'Discipline. Courage. Deter- mination. Honesty', one would feel an urge either to laugh or to poke him in the eye. But this holy-roller stuff, from Blair, is somehow accepted.
This is not the narrow, terrified sexual morality of the Tory party. This is half-time stuff, spitting out the orange and fixing the dissolute scrum with a gleaming eye. I hap- pen to know that it derives from one Peter Thompson, a football-playing Australian vicar now living somewhere near Merrijig in the Victorian alps, who Blair admits was his spiritual influence at St John's College, Oxford. Take muscular Christianity, sub- tract the hypocrisy, then add profanity, rock music and alcohol That is the moral philos- ophy of Thompson and Blair, and even for those of us who reach for our gun when politicians use the word morality, one has to admit one's susceptibility.
In most respects Blair's self-comparisons with Mrs Thatcher are ludicrous; but not his claim to integrity and singleness of pur- pose. So perhaps it was partly the touching sight of his father, Leo Blair, the Scottish solicitor who has just announced that he is no longer a Tory in protest at privatisation of the railways. Or perhaps it was the atmo- sphere of adulation, promoted by Blair's squads of boxy-suited clappers. But it was then that one felt a kind of intellectual tee- tering. One stared into the abyss of doubt.
For a fugitive instant, one toyed with the idea that this might indeed be the man to rejuvenate the ancient British polity; that there might even be grit in Labour's pro- tracted and probably spiteful plan to reform the British Constitution. One was almost seized with the Blairomania now afflicting those right-wing Tory chims of mine who see him, correctly, as the most efficient utensil for annihilating John Major. As I say, it was transient, this moment of doubt and shame.
The spell snapped the moment the audi- ence was on its feet and roaring. One looked around the conference chamber, at the Aids-ribboned school teachers and social workers, with their enormous intake of tea and cigarettes, their bad diet showing up in their faces, the diamante studs in their noses. One beheld flush-faced Tony Booth, the grinning father of Cherie, clap- ping histrionically; one remembered the morning's miserable, levelling rhetoric of the black T-shirted single mothers, and one realised that Blair has not yet performed the vital alchemy upon this party, and how lonely and exceptional he really is.
At a fringe meeting starring Donald Dewar, the shadow minister for social secu- rity, it became clear that in spite of Mr Blair's promise that 'Labour created the welfare state and Labour will reform it', Labour lacks the slightest courage or incli- nation to discharge what is arguably the 'Gee, maybe I should've mentioned the suicide notes!' central task of British politics. On the con- trary, said Mr Dewar, the Government lie- machine had merely been efficient in per- suading people that the welfare state was out of control; as if benefits did not account for £90 billion, a third of government spending, which itself stands at 42 per cent of gross national product.
'Instead of cutting back,' said Mr Dewar, 'we've got to persuade people that they've got to make the funds available.' In spite of tantalising leaks to the Daily Mail, Mr Dewar showed no instinct to tax Child Ben- efit and other universal entitlements. It is one thing for Mr Blair to reach for the erogenous zones of the oppressed middle classes, promising them more policemen on the beat and relief in the struggle to pay for nursing home accommodation if their sav- ings are worth more than £8,000. We still have no idea how he would find the money for it all.
We do not know what monkey glands, what virgins' blood, what elixir Mr Blair will use to fulfil his extraordinary pledge to make this country 'young' again; apart, that is, from the excitement of `virtual tourism' down the Internet. Correction. We do have a suspicion about the source of this tonic: my money and your money. Labour pro- poses an immoral windfall tax on privatised utilities to fund a French-style job-creation programme, while favouring a minimum wage which, if it is to have any impact at all, must by definition cost jobs. And that is merely currently stated policy.
Sooner or later there must be a revolt against the tyranny of the spin doctors, Alistair Campbell and Peter Mandelson, if not from the hacks who presently submit to their hectoring, then from the neutered mass of the party. Old Labour is still there, brooding and volcanic. 'Why are we leaving this so late? Why are we not saying where we are going or at what speed?' one asked me. And then he supplied the answer him- self. They have purposely allowed them- selves to be lobotomised by the lust for power. A great ox has stood upon their tongue. They will be back. They cheer him now. They strew his way with palms. But if Blair in office does not build a redistribu- tive society, many of them will attempt a crucifixion.
Boris Johnson is assistant editor of the Daily Telegraph.
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