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There were a few seconds when my heart sank. As the two hecklers jumped up with their banner and started shouting during an event I was moderating, a number of thoughts went through my head — and none of them owed much to the power of positive thinking.
The moment came at the FT Weekend Festival while I was chairing a panel about the Labour party. The headline guest was shadow chancellor Rachel Reeves, who I had just started asking about her recent decision to rule out any new wealth taxes when two protesters jumped up to point out she had recently decided to rule out any new wealth taxes.
After the inevitable moment of panic and unprintable thoughts, questions flooded into my brain. How do I speed the end of this interruption? Who are these people? What kind of wealth protesters can afford to pay the three-figure entrance fee to get into the FT Weekend Festival? And, lastly, where is Jonny Bairstow when you need him?
Then I was rescued by my own irritation. I had just asked the very question they wanted put. So I asked if they would like to hear the answer or just wanted to shout? Apparently taken aback, they hesitated before remembering that they wanted to shout. But the hesitation was fatal, we pressed on until festival staff arrived at which point they piped down and meekly departed.
Afterwards, though, my main emotion was scorn. These were entirely hopeless protesters. There were far too many words on their banner and even now I can’t remember the name of their organisation. Worse still, they folded at the first sign of authority. I mean, seriously, I’ve seen more spirited resistance from the spawn when we ask them to help with the chores.
Maybe I’m being unfair. Perhaps there was something in the cookery or arts tent they didn’t want to miss, and so they offered a quick protest and then dashed over to the talk on Portuguese wines. Two days later their behaviour was partially explained when I received a press release detailing their heroic assault on Fortress Hampstead with a photo and video of their triumph. Having got the shot, there was no need to stay.
What the episode did illustrate is that, for a certain type of activist, politics has been reduced to performance art. Two minutes of disruption, a video and a press release is taking the place of any attempt at the hard yards of winning hearts and minds.
If this is the way protests are going to go in future, perhaps we can reach a utilitarian accommodation in which we delay the start of any targeted event for two minutes so that a couple of protesters can get some footage of themselves shouting the slogan they hashed out over a glass of Casillero del Diablo. They then agree to go quietly.
Gesture politics has always been with us but what is striking about so many social media-driven demonstrations is the lack of any political strategy underpinning them. It is as if the performance is the only objective. There is no plan to persuade and, in some cases — notably the road-blocking climate protesters — there seems to be a conscious effort to alienate ordinary people and lose support (though at least the road-blockers are prepared to suffer arrest and prosecution).
It is summed up by throwing orange confetti over an ex-politician at his wedding, an act so pointless that the performance is the only possible goal. Yes, you get noticed but if there is no plan to convert that attention into support that politicians have to take seriously, then you are merely an attention-seeker.
Like the hashtag activism of social media, so much political campaigning seems to be about the campaigner not the cause. It is about a photo for your Insta feed. It’s the kind of politics that changes nothing but makes you feel good about yourself. It is campaigning for those who want to think of themselves as activists but can’t really be bothered to carry it through.
On the other hand, as someone who participates in public events, perhaps I shouldn’t complain. This is the kind of low-impact intervention that suits everyone.
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