Never is there a time in the calendar when there is such a concentration of utter meaninglessness than the Party Conference season. Each year brings the autumnal parade of delegates, party leaders and the faithful to the various rallying points around the coastal compass, and of course, the inevitable entourage of news crews and reporters, jostling each other for the latest titbit of hot political gossip. No conference would be complete without the 'fringe' events, where those who sail closer to the edge of the received orthodoxy meet and exchange their radical views. And then there are the speeches. Exercises in oratory, hyperbole and rhetoric are brought to the ears of the enraptured, crafted to raise them to their feet for the inevitable ovation and stir them into a frenzy of unswerving devotion and service for another year. The public affirmations of affection from Ed Miliband to his brother David at the Labour Party Conference in Manchester have borne all the hallmarks of a theatrical sentimentality. More skeptical bloggers and journalists have put a less favourable gloss on this, analysing David Miliband's body language, which displayed scantily concealed displeasure at having been defeated in the leadership contest by his younger sibling.
For the disinterested or uninterested onlooker like myself, the party conference season is merely an opportunity for parties and their leaders to showcase their talents to mesmerise, deceive and entertain those who are naive (or deluded) enough to attend them - despite the interjection by the occasional dissenter who heckles from the back during the critical address. They also provide a springboard for the occasional Bright Young Thing, flushed with the bloom of youthful idealism to make a favourable impression on the grandees and delegates. Some careers in politics have been forged through such conference appearances.
If ever there was a Vanity Fair, this must surely encapsulate it. Naturally, the party faithful would accuse me of cynicism, but - regardless of the political party - the theatre is the same. Why does this all convey the meaninglessness of a French existentialist novel? Perhaps it is because there is a perceived sense of disengagement on the part of members of the public. There have been false or broken promises. There have been expenses scandals at a time when many people have lost their jobs. There have been draconian laws, which have fuelled the suspicion that the apparatus of a police state is being constructed. There has also been the continual evasion of pertinent questions in interviews by politicians of all parties. Combined with the increasingly evident chasm between stated intent and actual deed, these observations aggregate a sense of frustration and distrust in the public towards a political machinery and elite which basks in its own self-congratulation, privilege and hauteur. But - perhaps more important than this - there is a disengagement from truth itself. Every party – in common with every corporate body and most individuals - wants to portray its cleanest and brightest side to the public gaze. This is only natural. However, the obsession with presentation and image has resulted in a pathological fear of being perceived as anything short of its desired image. To maintain the illusion of principled resolution, accord and authority, the party whips coerce the MPs into line. Cabinet ministers are diligent in ensuring that they avoid falling into the various verbal traps set for them by journalists and members of the public and resort to parroting the party line - even if it is not germane to the matter at hand. Image is self-serving.
In the Book Of Revelation in the Bible, the beast is worshipped through an image. Given that the beast depicted in the Apocalypse is generally believed to be a political system, one can easily be drawn to some conclusions..
