The semiotics of a smile

(And my message to the nation)

The smile. Sorry it’s a bit pixellated. Taken from a screen as I wasn’t actually there…

It was the smile that did it. When he finally smiled, I felt tears spring into my eyes. It was such a sweet smile. Not the rakish smile that we got so used to, that smile that said: I can get away with anything and do. Not the manic smile that said: I am the messiah who will break the shackles binding us and set us free. Not the oily smile that said: I will hold a referendum and it will all be fine because everything has always been fine for me.

No, this smile said something different. This smile said: it has been a long, hard slog, as I knew it would be, but I did the work, I listened to the people I needed to listen to, I took the action I needed to take and I will allow myself, briefly, to savour this moment of joy. And then, in a few hours, the real work begins.

Reader, I sobbed. It would be lovely to think that effort in life is always rewarded. Unfortunately, it isn’t, but on this day, in this country, and in this moment of history, it was.

Five years ago, like most political commentators, I thought Labour would be out of power for ten years. No political party has ever recovered so quickly from such a terrible loss. Thank you, Boris Johnson, for lying to Parliament, the one lie that could get you out. Thank you, Liz Truss, for being so evidently deranged that even the Tory MPs who got you into Downing Street felt obliged to drag you out. Thank you, Rishi Sunak, for being extremely accident-prone and for following extremely bad advice.

The damage Johnson and Truss have done to this country will be felt for generations, but at least they can’t do more damage now. They will try, of course. They will shriek into their echo chambers, but increasingly they will feel the sting of being yesterday’s people.

(I would like to say, by the way, that I don’t put Rishi Sunak in the same category as Johnson and Truss. For all his petulance and parroting of “lines to take” that were clearly misleading, I do believe he’s a relatively decent man who was trying to do his best. And it’s generous of him to stay until the Tories find a new leader. When he said “sorry”, on the steps of Downing Street, he meant it. He understands the concept of responsibility, which no one ever said of Alexander Boris de Pfeffel Johnson, or of Elizabeth Mary Truss.)

Anyway, back to the smile. I’m fascinated by that smile. It really was like the sun coming out after a long, dark storm. For a moment, I saw how this man had once been regarded as a charmer, the Darcy to Bridget Jones (though Helen Fielding later denied this), the human rights dreamboat it took a beauty like “Vic” to catch.

If that charm was ever there, it hasn’t been evident in the past four years. The Keir Starmer who has led the Labour party has been Mr Bank Manager, Mr Stolid, Mr Awkward, Mr Stern. He has been the headmaster at a slightly boring assembly, the one who gives out the detentions, bans the prizes and cancels the school disco. He has focused all his energy on not stepping on the cracks in the paving stones, not tripping on the broken ones and not dropping that Ming vase.

We, the electorate, were a panda wooed by a panda. One false step, one hint of a smile, and all would have been lost.

There were false steps, of course, but there weren’t any smiles, or at least there weren’t any smiles like this.

I have been trying to understand that smile.

I do think, first of all, it’s joy. It’s joy that the first part of the mission is accomplished. Yup, it was hard work. I can let a couple of muscles in my face relax.

I think it’s relief. As above. Perhaps even three or four muscles. Push the boat out. (Not the “small boats”, obviously. They need to be pushed back or something, but we’ve still got to work that one out.) Phew. Job done. I might even let myself have a pint later. Or perhaps a half. No need to go overboard. (And no, we will not be pushing any unfortunate people overboard, even if that loses us support.)

I think it’s a tiny, tiny flicker of pride. Yes, Dad, I did it. Did I tell you what my dad did for a living? He wasn’t very emotional, my dad. (Translation for normal people: he was an absolute effing nightmare.) Nothing I did was ever good enough for him, but perhaps, if he were still alive, he might just notice me now.

And the other thing I think it is, is confidence. Yes, actually, I know I seemed very cautious and I am very cautious, but at some level I always knew I could do this. I didn’t know exactly what it would take and I did have to break some eggs – and some hearts - on the way. But that’s what serious, grown-up men do and I am a serious, grown-up man.

The best piece I’ve read about Keir Starmer was in The Sunday Times in May. It was by Jason Cowley, editor of The New Statesman, who has met him several times. What had stayed with him, after one meeting, was his “complete self-belief”. This is what he said:

“This guy thinks he’s good, not just good but better than the rest. What does he know, I have often wondered. What does he see in himself that others don’t?”

This struck me so much that I sent Jason an email. It’s exactly what I’ve thought about Starmer since he emerged on the scene. He wasn’t Corbyn (good!) or Blair (good!) or Brown (I love the guy, but clearly not a vote-winner). Good, good and good, but what did he have? He’s not eloquent. He’s not charming. He’s not even particularly good at debating.

He had the conviction he could do it and he was right.

Conviction is clearly not enough. Liz Truss thought she could “save” the UK economy, and the world. Jeremy Corbyn thought he could bring about the end of capitalism. But Keir Starmer is a lawyer. He believes in something called evidence. He gathered his evidence, he built his case, slowly, painstakingly and with nerve-shredding caution.

All of this was important, but it was his conviction that got him over the line.

Can you think of a woman who could have done this? Or at least done it in this way?

Nope, nor can I.

Women are brought up to smile all the time. We are told we must look friendly and open. We mustn’t look threatening. We mustn’t look sceptical. We mustn’t, whatever happens, look fierce. Our bosses, our colleagues, our customers, our clients expect us to smile. Builders tell us off if we don’t, but they’re only saying what everyone is thinking. Cheer up, love. If the corners of your mouth aren’t turned up, you’re letting the side down.

I am, as footballers say, over the moon that Labour are back in power. It’s going to be a nightmare job, but I’m glad they want to do it. I will be even more over the moon when a woman can walk up to a lectern outside Downing Street, look out at the crowd and offer a smile that takes us by surprise.