We happy few. The morning after the afternoon before. It was a curious decision to schedule Keir Starmer’s speech for the Tuesday of the party conference. Almost like saying that the real business was in effect over with a day to spare. An invitation to some to pack up and go home early, which many delegates had happily accepted. Or else they had been partying late and forced to throw a sickie. Either way, most of the conference centre looked like something of a ghost town early on Wednesday.
But the show had to go on. Conferences abhor a vacuum. So we kicked off with Starmer doing a victory lap on the media round. They were some of the easiest interviews he will ever do, as no one had any tricky questions for him.
Perhaps after Tuesday there aren’t any. He’s proved his credentials to be the next prime minister and everyone now is just waiting for the coronation at the next general election. For the time being, we’re in a weird political holding pattern where the Tories are in government but not in power. Rishi Sunak just a dead man walking, seemingly unable to do anything but make a bad situation worse.
Most of the interviews started with the protest. Keir is now officially a member of the glitterati. “It was nothing,” said Starmer modestly. No worse than he’d experienced playing five-a-side. In which case, he was unusually restrained. Just handing the protester off. On the football field he’s known for being a bit of a clogger. The Roy Keane of the midfield.
Nobody really had any complaints about the policies. More houses, better jobs and green energy. And hope. What’s not to like? It was a dose of sanity. Especially as all the Tories had had to offer in Manchester was to cancel a meat tax that didn’t exist. To stop putting out seven bins that no one needed to do. To continue pumping sewage into rivers, because that’s what the people wanted. To abolish speed limits. Children would just have to learn to move quickly or die. And to cancel HS2. Excuse us while we struggle to contain our excitement.
Even a quarter-full Labour conference was busier than the Conservatives were last week. For the graveyard shift of the early morning, the main hall was still something like three-quarters full. Not everyone was in a hurry to leave. Some wanted to savour the moment. To luxuriate in the feeling of a Labour party poised to take power. Belonging to a party that is once again politically relevant. They were also there to participate. Labour still allows grassroots debates on the conference hall. Even if it doesn’t always take much notice of them. Though this year everyone has been singing pretty much from the same hymn sheet.
Bridget Phillipson had drawn the short straw of the first keynote speech. She must have been wondering what she had done wrong. Still, she attacked it with passion, and once I thought I even detected a hint of a smile. Unheard of. The education secretary never smiles. It’s her USP. But the audience loved her, much as they have loved every shadow minister who has appeared on the big stage. It’s a sign of a successful conference when all the important action takes place in the main hall rather than at the fringe events.
Phillipson didn’t stray too far from her pre-briefed notes. Better maths education for young children rather than compulsory maths for everyone until they are 18. But the audience cheered her every step of the way. They could even be bothered to give her several standing ovations. At 10 o’clock in the morning. With a hangover. That’s dedication. This enthusiasm thing is catching in Liverpool.
Next up – after a moving introduction from a terminally ill teacher called Nathaniel – was Wes Streeting. If he was put out at being shunted to the last day, he didn’t show it. He acted as if it was an opportunity, not a problem. But then Streeting is a class act. He understands his brief and he knows how to construct a speech that will intellectually and emotionally engage with his audience.
This was not a back-of-the-fag-packet effort. Rather, Streeting laid out a coherent plan for the health service. It was not enough to just love the NHS. That way, you could just kill it with a kindness that bordered on indifference. The NHS needed to reform or die. The Tories had put it on death row and he was the man to reprieve it. Doctors were going to offer more appointments at weekends, whether they wanted to or not. Teeth were going to be cleaned. And children were going to live for ever under a Labour government. As ever, I appear to have been born at the wrong time. But the audience were ecstatic. The ovations rattled into double figures. Wes should get used to this. He’s a leader of the future.
That left the final niceties. A short speech from the deputy speaker of the Ukrainian parliament, followed by a preview of a new party political broadcast. This, too, got several standing ovations. Mad. This can’t have happened before. Then Jonathan Ashworth to give the closing, feelgood number. No pressure, then. He began by talking of Keir having given the conference its sparkle. Geddit? Groan. Don’t go there, Jon. The gags have been on Twitter for all to see.
There was just time for a final appearance on stage from Keir. He didn’t say anything. Just walked on and sat down. But that was also enough for another standing ovation. He walks! He sits! Brilliant! Then the traditional ending of the Red Flag. Sung more like it was background music in a supermarket rather than a revolutionary protest hymn. And unlike in the Corbyn era, there were no raised arms and clenched fists. Truly, the Labour party has changed.
Depraved New World by John Crace (Guardian Faber, £16.99). To support the Guardian and Observer, pre-order your copy and save 18% at guardianbookshop.com. Delivery charges may apply.
