A hundred moments in autism - I am Blair-proof

Labour Party Conference Bournemouth 2003. 

The Labour government under Tony Blair is facing crisis over his support for George Bush’s war in Iraq. 

I am at the conference as a lobbyist for a health charity, and part of my work is helping man a Disability Alliance stand. I am on the stand when Tony Blair makes his speech to conference.  It is highly anticipated and by far the most important speech in his career, with numerous Labour MPs, Ministers and Peers all wavering on the point of resignation, multi-million person protests signalling what could be the end of his administration. 

His speech is in the main conference hall, in front of members and delegates. I am in a separate area with the conference stands, but his speech is broadcast through TV screens.  The stands are a mix: charities, trade unions, business groups, Hull City Council has its own stand for reasons best known to Hull City Council, and various Labour party groups – Labour Friends of Israel, Labour against hunting, even groups that were specifically against the war.  All human life was there. 

The speech began. All eyes were on the TV screens, there was total silence in the room. 

Say what you like about Tony Blair, he could give a good speech. What was impressive wasn’t his argument, but the impact of his speech on everyone around me. Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. For over an hour all eyes were riveted on Tony.  I was standing behind the Disability Alliance stand with a colleague. Obviously, nobody was coming to the stand – nobody was moving at all.  “I might as well go to the storeroom to get a box of those leaflets we’re short of,” I said.  

“But the speech ...” my colleague started to stay. 

“Is being broadcast on a different TV screen every few feet,” I observed. “I won’t miss it.” 

As I walked through the conference centre, catching the entire speech from TV to TV as I walked through, what was noticeable was that I was the only person moving.  Everybody else was fixed rigid, eyes on the screen, registering every word and gesture. Tony Blair was everywhere I looked, everywhere I trod, everywhere I turned my head, like a scene from a nightmare those of us of a certain age have probably had at some point. 

Yet I was the only one daring to move. The entire neurotypical world around me just stood and stared. Often, as an autist, you find yourself walking against the crowd. Or in this instance, walking against the standing-stills. 

The next year, Tony was in trouble again and had to give another speech to save his career. I was back on the stand, but this time  

“Let’s go get some more leaflets,” I said to my intern. 

“But the speech ...” he began.  

But that’s another moment.