The Diary of Mr W. Mitty: Entry 5

Entry 5; The case of the Parliamentary Agent

Dear Diary,

Oh what surreal week! Where to begin? The incidence of racist inspired violence? The offer to sit on a panel for a UN conference? Or the incident of the Parliamentary Agent managing an information gathering network, gassing away in a pub for all to hear?. Well, I guess the latter is a good a place to start as any, given that there is to be an election in May!

You know, the Shoulder of Mutton, a pub located in the centre of Bradford but a stones throw away from the public art work known as Grozny, aka the hole, is a strange place. Strange in that all kinds of souls pass through it's doors to relax and chat over a jar. Strange in that many a Labour political activist can be found within. Whether it be just relatives and aides of the MP Marsha Singh, rank and file activists or even someone called Paul; who sits on my left debating with another gentlemen on my right about the day's political events and recent canvassing activities.

Here I am, relaxing with a fine alcoholic beverage, attempting to plough my way through Derriada's 'The politics of friendship'; attempting to drown out my neighbours siren's call that caresses and peaks my interest. Unfortunately I could not help myself. Particularly when Paul, a portly 'silver back' fellow who was afflicted with what I thought to be hyper-maculinitius, a prejudiced diagnosis born from the difference between the background decibel level and the new heights reached when he spoke, said “Oh, we've definitely got the white vote, the BNP is a mess. And UKIP? Well that helps us too as it takes votes away from the Torys”. I will skip over Paul's opinion of the Lib Dems and the Lib Dem voters, needless to say it was not nice!

But what about the 'Asian' vote, enquired Paul's conversational partner in an indirect way through referring to an 'Asian' activist and his 'Asian' friend? Paul's reply was even more indirect, “he could not organise anything, useless he is! A liability”. Granted, I am perhaps paraphrasing his replies and using less provocative language. But what of this 'Asian' activist and his 'Asian' friend? Thus replies Paul, “I've met him and he is a bloody gangster, thinking he owns it all and is the man. Well I've told him that that means jack all and if comes around here acting and talking like that.....”.

Paul's conversational partner went onto explain why the honourable, completely upstanding and squeaky clean, his majesty and lord of all he purviews, MP Marsha Singh, wanted this Asian activist and his Asian friend to 'be on board', so to speak. “Well, Marsha views him as his friend”. Of course Paul reiterates this twosomes ineptitude and ties to the criminal fraternity. Hearsay? Who knows. However, what is clear is that Paul does not like them.

It was at this point that I found it extremely difficult to not listen in. Indeed, a smile emerged across my face as I attempted my impersonation of the Cheshire cat. But no matter! What about Derrida! I must finish reading, I thought, Derrida's analysis of the Nietzchian phrase 'O my friend, there are no friends! O enemies there, is no enemy'--apt non?

The problem was that Paul then went onto give his opinion about the voting motivations of people in several Bradford constituent areas. His over simplification and process reduction of these complex human affairs made me chuckle out loud; drawing the attention of Paul, his conversational partner and two others in the small side room of the pub, in which we found ourselves.

Paul's conversational partner took this opportunity to refresh his nicotine levels and I too was feeling the rattle and decided to follow suit. Outside I asked Paul's friend, “Do you not think he is being a little naive?” and I meant this both in the sense of the content of what he said, and the fact that he was broadcasting such information in a public house; why, dear diary, just think of who could be listening in! He avoided answering directly. Preferring instead to say “well, he is a pratt”. Fair enough, I thought.

Back inside and sandwiched, again, in-between both of them, the gentlemen I had spoken to outside decided to ask me, in-front of Paul, “so why do you think Adrian is naive? Do you not know that he is very clever and can memorise all the statistics presented in the Guardian newspaper?”. Very impressive, I thought, but who the fuck is Adrian? So I explained, turning my head to Paul and attempting to be as conciliatory as possible, “well actually you've misunderstood what I said out side, I was, er, referring to Paul”.

Paul remained silent, his eyes firmly focused on the newspaper in-front of him, and on which he scribbled sensitive messages for his conversational partner, the gentlemen to which I refer, to read. Strangely, particularly for a silver-back, he began to go red in the face. A sign of embarrassment I thought. I felt compelled to explain myself; to outline my case as to why I thought him naive.

So, I explained what I viewed as oversimplifications on his behalf. Making sure to depreciate myself as someone of little importance. I started with the topic of the BNP and the 'white vote', as Paul liked to call it. I explained that I had conducted covert research into the BNP, infiltrating and archiving Internet based communications data. I talked about how I complimented that 'online' research by befriending prospective BNP voters and members in the Bradford district and covertly attending BNP meetings. All in order that I could understand such person's beliefs and motivations better and write about them.

But before I could go onto to explain my interpretations of such beliefs and motivations Paul interrupted, “well, what's the point and use of that? You should have been managed! You remember the BBC documentary 'the secret agent'? Well that mole was mine, I managed him and manage others. I am a parliamentary agent, I know all the information and I've never heard of you!”. Well, I thought that is interesting. I replied, “you not hearing about me is perhaps a sign that I was good at my research. Regardless the purpose was for me, to try and to understand”.

This motivation seemed lost on Paul, so I asked him whether he had any interest in political apathy and the beliefs, emotions and motivations of the electorate. His reply? “There is a bloody election in May and as a parliamentary agent I am just concerned with getting people to vote Labour and to win the election”. What, by any means?--I quietly thought to myself.

It was at this point in the conversation that Paul decided not to engage with what I was actually saying. Indeed, addressing me through an address to the entire room “ha, typical of a student, you don't exist in the real world”. I turned to him and said “what has that got to do with what I said? Besides I am not a student!”. “Well”, he boomed, “how old are you then?”. It's true. I do look young for my age, so I replied “I am 31”.

He seemed thrown by this as it put a block to his, ironically, conservative, right-ring rhetorical style—when loosing the ground in a debate position your conversational enemy into a subject position of little authority. How could a child know of such things? How could a child exist in the real world? Playground politics—I am not naive you are naive. Perhaps I should have said 'speaking as a mother'? Perhaps he did not know that 'O my enemies, there is no enemy'? Perhaps, dear diary, we are both naive and exist in the ether?

It was obvious that, at this point in time, our conversation would go no further. So I decided to take my leave and parted with the words “it was not my intent to insult you by thinking that you are naive”. This seemed to placate him somewhat and I must have spoken some sense because before I left, he asked if we could meet up to discuss the BNP some more. Perhaps when we meet again I will indulge in the use of an electronic aid-mémoire and attempt to ascertain the extent of his activities as a parliamentary agent managing information gathering networks. Networks that, as he alluded, are directed at other political units too and do more than just gather information.