AFTERTHOUGHT
The silent minority
JOHN WELLS
The threatened strike by UMPAH, Britain's ten thousand strong Union of Militant Political Activists and Hecklers, that could bring the general election to a grinding halt, is still 'very much on the cards', according to the union's bearded general secretary, Mr Arthur Loaf. That was the shattering shock upshot of last night's dramatic press conference at Union Headquarters in Threadneedle Street, and already politicians up and down the country are facing the grim prospect of empty meetings, abandoned committee rooms and silent pavements.
There is brave talk about maintaining essential whistle-stop tours with a skeleton staff of volunteer newspapermen and tele- vision reporters: there are schemes for a beat - the - strike reversion to primitive methods with individual candidates going out alone on face-to-face doorstep con- frontations with a traditionally hostile or at best apathetic general public. But when they are honest with themselves, the politicians have to admit that UMPAH has got them over a barrel. The public demands a 'live' show, the colourful scuffles with the police round the Minister's car, the demonstrators and bystanders, and there are few politi- cians, with the possible exception of Mr Heath, who can speak with passion to ranks of unoccupied chairs. Without UMPAH to create the illusion of political interest, even of political enthusiasm and involvement, it seems unlikely that the mass of the popula- tion will even be aware that an election is taking place on 18 June.
Inevitably the union has come in for a good deal of criticism for 'holding the nation to ransom' by threatening to withdraw its labour at such a crucial juncture. They have been accused of self-seeking, of irresponsi- bility, of imperilling our economic security, our political system, even the fabric of our society. But Mr Loaf remains unrepentant. The Political Activist, Mr Loaf insists, has been taken for granted for too long. 'Now take the so-called Party Worker, of whom we represent thousands. A thankless, unin- teresting job, very little glamour attaching to it aside from your occasional appearance on the telly sitting behind the speaker and yawning, and yet whenever there's a crisis
he has to be on the job day and night, press- ing the candidate's trousers, wiping the egg off his tie, answering his letters, whispering people's names in his earhole. Without your Party Worker your candidate would be as helpless as a baby. There's devotion, a sense of vocation, and they are taken for granted.
'Then take a man who's reached the top of his profession. Big demonstrator or mis- sile-thrower. Always on the telly being car- ried out from under the Prime Minister's car, climbing over the microphones to punch
the speaker, being biffed on the nut by your Nazi-style stewards—we represent them, too, as a matter of fact—he's a real stunt man. Everybody takes him for granted. Just the same. You don't hear a word of thanks.
Nobody asks themselves what happens to a man like that when he gets too old to work. 'It's just as bad for the big hecklers. Work their way up from the wayside pulpit right up to a big stadium job with the whole Cabinet on the platform. Real wizards of impromptu repartee, some of them are. What happens? First of all they get done by the electronics: I mean what's the human voice against a couple of ten-foot speakers? Then you get the television favouring the platform in all the shots: highly unflattering coverage of your heckler. Been working all his life at it, maybe this is his big chance, and all you see on the screen is a little beardy blur in the distance waving its arms about while it gets thumped.
'But l'm not talking about the rank and file. Most of our members have got jobs like standing on pavements with a shopping bag, just looking. Not smiling or cheering, just looking. Or sitting in meetings with five other people, listening to some candidate
droning on about surtax relief. And that's one job every five years, if you're lucky.
But it's not the casual nature of the employ- ment that we're protesting about. It's voca- tional for us, like I said: if we were just in
it for the money we'd be doing it profes- sionally, MPS, on the borough council, that kind of thing. But we don't want it like that, we do it because we believe in it. We like the politics, not just the perks.
'All we're asking is for people to appre- ciate us, recognise our contribution to society. Where would the professional politi- cians be without us, answer me that? If we just stayed at home like everybody else and watched the telly all night? That's what we're on about, you see, they'll notice us when we aren't there.'
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