Editor’s view: Welcome to the Farmers Party conference
© Wellphoto/Adobe Stock Party conference season is nearly upon us with the Lib Dems set to gather in Bournemouth next week, the Tories the week after and Labour later in October.
As much a marker of the beginning of autumn for politicians and journalists as the heady smell of a randy ram is for a sheep farmer, political conferences are a place to cheer the party faithful and create a moment where the wider public may listen to your vision for the country.
See also: Editor’s view: SFI rollout begins but questions remain
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I’d imagine nearly every reader of this article would rather spend a day combining damp linseed and hand-forking out a broken muckspreader than attend such a jamboree of bluster and fakery, but it got me wondering what a mythical Farmers Party conference would look like.
No slick corporate location such as Birmingham, Bournemouth or, erm, Blackpool, of course. It wouldn’t fit the brand.
The inaugural Farmers Party conference would assert its authority by holding a gathering in the most authentic farming setting of all – a giant marquee with uncomfortable wooden seating.
A decision to hold the event at whichever is the most agriculturally diverse county would dominate pre-conference in-fighting, with Cornish and Herefordshire farmers coming to blows at a pre-arranged duelling spot on neutral territory - Daylesford Farm Shop.
The conference fringe at the gathering of a normal political party is a cluster of lobbyists and sponsors dishing out warm white wine and holding faux-earnest conversations on why the point of view that makes them the most money happens to also be factually correct.
At the Farmers Party conference this would be replaced with policy being discussed on the hoof – literally.
Manifesto pledges would be adopted following a Young Farmers-style stock judging competition with pithy summaries of four positions on the pros and cons of, say, headage payments attached to a pen of four breeding ewes and the merits of each discussed in front of a judge.
Candidates to run for seats would be selected based on their ability to write a successful application for an environmental scheme without hesitation, deviation, repetition, blaspheming or triggering a blood pressure alarm.
Those bidding for cabinet-level seats would be asked to explain how they’d make money from milk for two years in a row, grow a successful crop of oilseed rape in Bedfordshire and come up with a compelling answer to the question: “What is the point of bloom dip?”
The all-important leader’s speech is normally the culmination of each conference – sending attendees off with a rousing defence of their world view and urging them to go forth and gather new voters to the cause.
Herein lies the flaw at the heart of our fledgling party – is there enough policy that all farmers can agree on to bind them together into a fighting political force?
Stifling grain imports by whacking a tariff on overseas crops that have been grown using products that are banned here would drive up the price of livestock feed.
Directing finite funding to the lowlands deprives the uplands, and vice versa. Subsidising food production can encourage overproduction. Cutting away safety nets can undermine our food security.
For this reason, the leader chooses to stick to safe territory. A podium-thumping defence of the unassailable right of a British farmer to drive American tractors, Japanese quad bikes and German combines.
All that plus world-beating catering and a karaoke session at the afterparty kicked off by Jeremy Clarkson and Kaleb Cooper doing Islands in the Stream. See you there.