Opinion

William Scholes: Conservative leadership contest a reminder that not all men are the same

William Scholes

William Scholes

William has worked at The Irish News since 2002. His areas of interest include religion and motoring.

Boris Johnson, who launched his bid for the leadership of the Conservative Party this week, is a reminder that not all men are the same. Picture by Stefan Rousseau/PA Wire
Boris Johnson, who launched his bid for the leadership of the Conservative Party this week, is a reminder that not all men are the same. Picture by Stefan Rousseau/PA Wire Boris Johnson, who launched his bid for the leadership of the Conservative Party this week, is a reminder that not all men are the same. Picture by Stefan Rousseau/PA Wire

BREXIT, like Mrs Brown's Boys or having your fingers trapped in a car door, has not given us much to smile about.

Broadcasters in particular have felt obliged to devote endless hours to the subject since the whole wretched fantasy slithered into view.

You can almost hear the boredom in the voice of the presenter as they marshal the latest phone-in on the backstop or Boris Johnson's hairstyle.

Occasionally, as the keen-eared will know, the equivalent of a cry for help comes across the airwaves.

The most obvious of these is the sub-spooneristic slip of the tongue that morphs 'Brexit' into 'breakfast'.

When you hear that, you know the presenter is so fed up that they would rather be talking about anything else, with the possible exception of the weather bulletin, which all concerned appear to be under contractual obligation to conduct with lashings of faux bonhomie.

A further malapropism has been provided by the Conservative leadership contest in which the first letter of Jeremy Hunt's surname is transposed with the first letter of his party's name.

It adds a little, but only a little, to the air of forlorn tragedy that already engulfs the process to find Theresa May's successor.

There is a certain pathos to be had in observing a bunch of MPs, among whom there are even some with discernible talent, undergoing the humiliation of lashing themselves into a clown car before it is launched downhill in the near-certain knowledge that when the careering mess collapses in on itself, Boris Johnson will emerge from the wreckage as the winner.

This is epochal stuff. If a visitor from outer space landed in Royal Avenue and was told that a figure as temperamentally unsuitable and quixotically preposterous as Mr Johnson had ended up as prime minister, they might also begin to comprehend how the Ancient Egyptians worshipped cats and how Nelson McCausland once ran several Stormont departments.

Some people mistake Mr Johnson's venal opportunism for charisma but, whatever it is, Jeremy Hunt lacks it.

When Mr Johnson resigned as Foreign Secretary in a row over the Chequers Agreement - or, to be more accurate, the Chequers Disagreement, as it is fondly remembered by Brexitoscenti - Mrs May put Mr Hunt in the role.

Mr Hunt is a centre of measured and relaxed calm, a Ludovico Einaudi backing track compared to Mr Johnson, who is a Twelfth of July parade re-routed through the orchestra pit of the Grand Opera House.

Despite his manifest failings, Mr Johnson does have the unassailable electoral advantage of name recognition.

Unless you're a grass court tennis devotee, there's only one Boris. Unfortunately for Mr Hunt, there is more than one Jeremy, including the hopeless leader of the Labour Party.

As already mentioned, Mr Hunt suffers the further nominative ignominy of being followed by his own Brexit/breakfast albatross.

Latest to fall down the linguistic rabbit hole was BBC presenter Victoria Derbyshire.

Addressing a Tory MP about his support for Mr Hunt, Derbyshire managed to swap the H for a C.

Slips of the tongue can happen to us all, and experienced TV hosts are no different.

Derbyshire immediately apologised, which was the right thing to do.

Unfortunately her contrition, as reported in this newspaper, lapsed into casual sexism.

"I've never said that before in my life," she said, adding: "It's normally men who say that."

Not from where I sit... It is telling that, having made an honest mistake, Derbyshire's instinct was to blame 'men'.

What fate would befall a male presenter who made a similar gaffe and then attributed a particular behaviour - in this case a predilection for a particular profanity - to 'women' as a group?

They would surely be accused of misogyny and of providing yet another example of the male privilege which perpetuates the patriarchy.

Condemning all men as a group merely because of their male identity has become entirely acceptable in the public square.

It is also increasingly prevalent. Far from becoming genuinely pluralistic and a place where ideas can be aired and debated, society is in danger of funnelling itself into ever-narrower orthodoxies where nothing can be challenged.

I could care less what Victoria Derbyshire thinks of me, but I do care about the world my 10-year-old son is growing into.

One needs only to look at Boris Johnson and Rory Stewart, just two of the Conservative leadership candidates, for a reminder that not all men are the same. So why is it acceptable to lump us all together?