All that was missing was the dry ice. Long before Keir Starmer was due to give his leader’s speech the conference hall was rammed – even the standing room was oversubscribed. Keir could have sold out the arena two or three times over. Not so long ago, Labour had to beg its supporters to fill the seats. The vibe was almost rock’n’roll. But this was no mere entertainment. This was deadly serious.
In the audience, bets were being placed on who might be called upon to introduce Starmer. Some thought we might get a video message from Barack Obama. Bono, possibly. An endorsement from Rupert Murdoch would also have gone down a storm. Sealed the next election. Best of all would have been Rishi Sunak himself. There’s nothing more guaranteed to get the Labour vote out than an appearance from the prime minister – the more the country sees of him, the less they like him. Just one more push for “What this county needs is a change of direction”.
In the event, it was left to Marie Tidball, the parliamentary candidate for Penistone and Stockbridge, to do the honours. She gave a brief, potted history of Keir – one which we can all now recite by heart – and left it at that. Unlike at Rachel Reeves’ speech the day before, where she was twice introduced as the next chancellor, there was no presumption for Starmer. We all knew that this was the next prime minister, but we were under orders to keep it to ourselves. Need-to-know basis and all that.
Cue pumping music. Lionheart (Fearless), apparently (me neither). Then on walked Starmer to his first standing ovation. By the end I had long since lost count of them. But before he had opened his mouth, a man ran from the back of the stage to throw glitter all over the Labour leader, all the while mumbling something about proportional representation. It was all vaguely surreal. The paramilitary wing of the Electoral Reform Society? A lone agent sent out by Ed Davey? Will no one rid me of this troublesome first-past-the-post system?
Keir looked momentarily confused. Stunned even, as security guards dragged the protester away. He tried unsuccessfully to brush the glitter off his jacket before a woman stepped up on stage and got him to remove it. Weirdly, this seemed to free him up. Gave him a chance to assert his control, his authority. He rolled up his sleeves and leaned forward on the lectern. Now he could channel his annoyance at the interruption. Looking every bit the leader who was ready for business.
This had been billed as a crunch speech. A last chance for Starmer to show the country the real him – what he stands for, what drives him – and to make the case for Labour before the next election. This was overkill. Hyperbole. The reality is we already pretty much know the real Starmer already. There is not much more to tell. A bright working class boy who has done well. Who supports Arsenal. That might be a little dull. Prosaic even. But we could all do with a bit more dull in our lives from our ruling class. We’ve had enough fun with Boris Johnson and Liz Truss to last a lifetime.
It’s also true that Labour will almost certainly win the election anyway, but Starmer was leaving nothing to chance. This was his moment to seize the initiative. To kick the Tories when they were down. To win over the doubters. And he didn’t disappoint. Sure the speech rambled a bit at times. They almost always do. Someone should tell politicians that an hour is always far too long. Cut, cut, cut. If it can’t be said in 45 minutes it isn’t worth saying.
But at its core, it made the important argument. It was well constructed and hit home. Where Sunak’s speech in Manchester had never been more than an increasingly desperate plea to be given another chance. He knew he had done nothing to deserve it, but he just wanted it anyway. He couldn’t stand the personal failure. Starmer offered so much more. Not just intellectual depth but emotional intelligence. He knew this was both all about him and nothing about him. He was the mere figurehead. A focal point. The country was what was really at stake. That was the prize. Time and again he spoke of service. All too often, Rishi thinks he is doing us a favour.
After dispensing with the protester – “This shows how much the party has changed” – Starmer made a few well-aimed gags at the Tories’ expense, just to ease himself and the audience into the speech. But this wasn’t really about the Conservatives. Hell, the whole country knew that they had failed, were a bad joke. This was about making the positive case for Labour. To not just rely on people voting against the Tories. Rather, to feel inspired to vote for something better.
There was patriotism, there was support for Israel – yet another standing ovation: a few years ago the hall was full of Palestinian flags, now there were none – and there was the casual mention of a decade of renewal. Starmer isn’t just counting on winning the next election. He’s also banking on the one after that. Then came the announcements. Not so much well-defined policy as aspirational mission statements.
An attack on nimbyism by building on bits of the grey belt. An idea stolen from under the Tories’ noses (they will be kicking themselves). Full speed ahead on renewables. The climate crisis was an opportunity to be embraced, not to be shrunk from. A new reformed NHS. We were veering into territory seldom seen in British politics in recent years: hope. Starmer was making Britain sound like a place where you might want to live. Not just survive. The applause was ecstatic. For Sunak last week it had merely been grudging.
Not all politicians were liars, he said. Some, like Rishi, were just hopelessly out of touch. Their lived experience was not ours. But Starmer’s was. He knew what it was like to go without. To struggle. His was an authentic voice. If you hadn’t already got it, this was the real him. “I will fight for you,” he promised. Unlike the Tories, whose only commitment is to fight each other.
The audience was up on its feet long before the peroration, most of which got completely drowned out by the noise. Then Starmer’s wife came on stage for the obligatory awkward photocall. Who would be the partner of as politician at these moments? They wandered off, only to summoned back for an encore a couple of minutes later. Labour couldn’t get enough of its leader. Where’s the glitterball when you need it?
Join John Crace at 8pm GMT on Monday 6 November for a livestreamed Guardian Live event where he will be talking about his forthcoming book, Depraved New World, with fellow satirist Ian Hislop. Tickets available here.
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Depraved New World by John Crace (Guardian Faber, £16.99). To support the Guardian and Observer, pre-order your copy and save 15% at guardianbookshop.com. Delivery charges may apply.
