Everyone likes to think they have a personal vote. Following the Conservative landslide of 1983, the newly elected Member for Richmond and Barnes1, Jeremy Hanley, received a phone call from the prime minister. She had been to the constituency prior to polling day, which Hanley went on to win by a mere 74 votes.
The conversation went like this. “Mrs Thatcher, I want to thank you for getting me the 74 votes that I needed. Your visit made all the difference.” To which she flatly replied, “No, Jeremy. You won the 74 votes. The other 21,000 were for me.”
When it comes to elections, the outcome is almost always — and to a truly disheartening degree — beyond any local candidate’s control. The popularity of the national party, the vibes of the economy, the demographics of the particular seat — little can be done about them, at least not during the short campaign.
Nevertheless, there is one metric that can be, if not exactly decisive, then at least surprisingly persuasive. Forget money or charisma, though a liberal sprinkling of either never hurts. Rather, it’s whether the voter has met the candidate. Which sounds almost cartoonishly parochial but hear me out.
A handshake and a smile
What you actually say to them on the doorstep isn’t really the point. Perhaps there’s a Mariana Trench-sized pothole the local council hasn’t filled in or they want to vent about a particular policy grievance. In either case, let them. The important thing is to just shake their hand, exude a base level of empathy and, unless obviously hostile, ask if you can count on their support.
Now, even in UK parliamentary constituencies, which at around 75,000 registered voters is smaller than many other democracies, shaking hands with a statistically significant number of residents can prove difficult. What you need, therefore, is a system, and it pains me to see it be done wrong.
I never enjoyed door-knocking because I am, in these special, very limited circumstances, a normal person. As it happens, I don’t get a kick out of walking around suburbia in the cold, trying to work out which if any of the seven doorbells are operational, hoping no one answers because the British public can be, let’s face it, a capricious lot.