Apathy Rules
I am a firm believer in political apathy. I will willingly march up Cornmarket Street surrounded by men in bowler hats in defence of my right to have no interest in the benefits of conservatism, liberalism or new-wayism. I will hoist a banner for the joys of disinterest, and I will happily take a gun to the head of the next Socialist Worker who proclaims that we should 'make the rich pay.'
Legions of Oxford students form committees upon committees. They decide to lobby Parliament in the hope that a select committee will set up a sub-committee to investigate the benefits of an investigation into a change in the interest payable calculation on Third World debt.
If that's political action then I'll sit firmly in the college bar with a pint of Tetley's and a packet of cheese and onion crisps. And some self-righteous nobody with long greasy hair, a pair of ripped jeans and a ubiquitous clipboard will approach me with a question. The question will be along the lines of: "do you know that the potato snack you're eating is mass produced at a sweat-swop in Kuala Lumpur by malnourished children taking the jobs of British workers and leaving thousands of men to sit at home during the day watching the Vanessa show?" I have developed the perfect answer. " Of course I bloody do. I'm doing the jobless a favour. They now get to do exactly what any right minded person would do: sit at home watching Vanessa."
And it's not just the act of political interest itself that annoys me. It's the ludicrous image that goes with it.
Apparently you're not qualified to talk about anything remotely left-wing unless you were born in a cupboard on the outskirts of Middlesborough. Your grandfather must have spent his working life hoping the canary didn't pop its clogs, and you must have at least nine siblings. If you are the possessor of these qualities then you are also the possessor of the knowledge of all the ages. You can talk from the heart about benefits, and pensions, and tuition fees.
At the opposite end of the spectrum you are not allowed to be radical unless you are the child of middle class conservative parents from Kent. You must smoke dope, wear rainbow-coloured clothes, and sleep a lot. Unless you are protesting. In which case you must effect a look of confusion and put beads in your hair. Smoking dope at the marching stage depends on just how radical you really are. Smoking dope whilst tied to a JCB digger and having sex qualifies you to hold the loud-hailer and lead the chanting. Being exceptionally dirty guarantees you instant media celebrity.
The inevitability of it all is depressing. Inevitable stereotypes trying desperately hard to be individuals join together in inevitable marches using chants first heard at the CND marches. They protest against decisions that have already been taken and hope that someone will listen, rather than just get bored by the fact that police cordons create more traffic problems.
The worst thing about political activists, though, is their belief that their cause should be supported, irrespective of the paucity of any valid argument in support: listen to a Euro-sceptic and hear Hague quoted verbatim, listen to a New-Labourite and prepare for the Third Way song and dance. The indignation that spreads across the face of rain-forest lovers when you tell them that as a student you have a particular fondness of paper is amazing. Even more beautiful is the sullen dejection of an anti-arms campaigner who smiles when you tell him you believe in Robin Cook's ethical foreign policy; but who frowns when you say it's only fair the British should give the Indonesians a chance against us by selling them missiles.
My criticism is not limited to the activists, however. Party political broadcasts are just as worthy of derision. I know of people who make a positive decision to watch these things. They are portals into a world where every dawn is a 'new dawn.' A world created by freelance advertisers who missed out on the commission from the new piles cream company. Being patronised by political parties right after the news (which has probably just highlighted their glowing inadequacies) is the best reason to remain apathetic.
So, as Michaelmas 1999 starts I'll sit tight and avoid the marches and, more importantly, the marchers. I'll go to bars, play badly for college sports teams, and have a good laugh while I'm doing it. I will be criticised mercilessly by the politically minded around me who will say I'm not doing my part. I'll respond by telling them that I'm doing what they'll be doing when their student days are over: not really giving a damn about politics, voting for a party on the relative ugliness of its candidate, and failing to understand properly the issues that we're voting on.
7th Oct 1999