There are grand old traditions in British politics, such as physically dragging a new speaker of the house of commons to his or her chair. This dates back to when monarchs frivolously lopped off speakers’ heads. No wonder some were historically reluctant to take up post.
Another is holding an MP “hostage” in Buckingham Palace when the monarch goes to the House of Lords to give a king’s speech. Last month it was Scunthorpe MP Nic Dakin, who watched the speech on a palace television, eating shortbread and supping tea.
There are also more recent British political traditions, three of which intersected during this week’s dramatic events around the Labour leadership and Keir Starmer.
First, we witnessed the modern tradition – possibly more of an entrenched, decades-old habit at this stage – of comedy or novelty candidates running for election. This has been a feature since the 1960s When Screaming Lord Sutch first put himself forward.
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Starmer slayer Andy Burnham was declared the winner of the Makerfield byelection last Friday morning flanked on one side by a 6,000 year old intergalactic traveller with a rubbish can on his head – Count Binface, who got 95 votes – and on the other side by a wildlife campaigner dressed as a fox. He garnered 18 votes.
I bumped into the man behind Count Binface, comedian and broadcaster Jon Harvey, in Westminster last week. He is nice but very normal.
The second recent political tradition that was on display on Monday was the defenestration of a prime minister.
Of the six, including Starmer, who have left (or are about to leave) office since 2016, only one, Rishi Sunak, was ejected by voters in an election. David Cameron was also, kind of, rejected by voters who defied him in the Brexit vote, which made him quit. But Theresa May, Boris Johnson, Liz Truss and, now, Starmer were all taken out by their own MPs.
The third recent tradition to spring up is activist hecklers/protesters disrupting the resignation speeches of departing premiers.
Sunak didn’t quit, but as he stood in the rain to call the election in 2024, he looked as if he wanted to. Meanwhile, footage of the moment forever more will feature anti-Brexit campaigner Steve Bray taunting him with speakers blaring the old Blairite Labour anthem, Things Can Only Get Better by D: Ream.
Two years earlier, Bray did something similar to ruin Johnson’s big Dowing Street departure moment, blasting Benny Hill music.
On Monday, Starmer’s resignation speech was almost drowned out by Bray playing Beethoven’s Ode to Joy at stratospheric decibel levels from the Downing Street gates. The instrumental version is the anthem of the European Union while the full-fat version is also Starmer’s favourite piece of music.
I was standing outside Number 10 when Starmer quit, and I can confirm that the music was much louder for those present than it appears in television coverage. Starmer spoke into broadcaster microphones, amplifying his voice on screen. In person, it was difficult to hear him over the operatic climax.
Britain is a deeply divided society and its parliament reflects this. They struggle to agree what day of the week it is across the party spectrum. But I believe one opinion could muster a majority across those who work in parliament, including politicians, aides and journalists alike: Bray is an absolute nuisance.
He has been doing this sort of thing for a decade. He blares music outside at almost every party conference or big political event. He is also usually found on a traffic island several days a week blasting noise pollution across Westminster and Whitehall.
Wednesdays used to be his favourite day during Tory times, when he cranked it up for prime minister’s questions. Now it could be any day.
When the wind blows a certain direction, the room of the press gallery where I work sounds like a bad 1980s disco, as Bray’s contribution to democracy drifts up.
Most people, this journalist included, acknowledge his right to protest. That doesn’t mean they have to like him or the way he chooses to exercise it. It is his choice, but it is also apparent that it garners him a lot of attention. Some people like that kind of thing.
His aural vandalism of Starmer’s historic moment this week sparked a backlash against Bray online and in mainstream media.
Journalism grandee Andrew Neil, for example, branded him a “buffoon”. Lewis Goodall, co-presenter with Emily Maitlis and Jon Sopel of the popular News Agents podcast, said he was a “complete disgrace” and a “yob”.
Channel Four News reported on the backlash and gave Bray a right of reply, of sorts. He seemed uncharacteristically chastened by some of the criticism, and said he never intended to drown out Starmer’s speech and was only going to play music at the end.
Bray’s excuse was that he only cranked up Ode to Joy so early to drown out another heckler at the Downing Street gates, a right-wing Restore Britain protester with a loud hailer who was calling for Starmer to quit.
A free speech absolutist might ponder whether Bray, the ultimate free speech warrior, had any right to interfere with the other man’s right to express himself by ensuring that nobody would be able to hear him, and that Bray would get all the attention instead.
