Whatever the future of the right looks like, it shouldn’t involve cranks

Nigel Farage and Reform UK may be quietly relieved that Keir Starmer’s government reshuffle sucked some of the air out of their Birmingham conference.

While Labour scrambled to patch over yet another ministerial scandal – this time Housing Secretary Angela Rayner over stamp duty, following the resignation of the homelessness minister over rent increases and the city minister over corruption – the cameras were distracted. For Reform, that meant a little less scrutiny just as it tried to showcase itself as more than a protest party.

On the surface, the gathering was an impressive spectacle, with an unusual mixture of professional polish and grassroots zeal. It was more reminiscent of an American rally than the sometimes-dour proceedings of a Tory gathering – camp in parts, even, as The Spectator has illustrated well. Andrea Jenkyns, the former Tory MP turned Reform’s Lincolnshire mayor, provided one of the more memorable (and surreal) moments when she stormed out in a glittering jumpsuit, belting out Insomniac, a song she penned two decades ago. Yes, it may have been awkward and embarrassing, but for all the karaoke theatrics, the conference drew a different kind of crowd: curious and ordinary. That in itself suggests Reform has tapped into a new mood.

But then came the problem that seems to stalk some of Farage’s ventures: the fringe was not fringe enough. For all the talk of seriousness, the party handed its main stage to Dr Aseem Malhotra, a man who is well-versed in crankhood, making his name peddling conspiracy theories – and this time it was suggesting that Covid-19 vaccines were linked to cancer in the royal family. Reform’s chairman, David Bull – who himself claims to believe in ghosts – introduced him warmly, telling delegates that he and Malhotra had “written Reform’s health policy”. More theatre of delusions than theatre of dreams.

Tory shadow health secretary Stuart Andrew demanded Farage apologise for promoting “dangerous disinformation”, while Labour’s Wes Streeting accused him of giving a platform to “poisonous lies”. Reform’s official defence was hardly reassuring. Malhotra, they said, was merely a “guest speaker with his own opinions” and had “an advisory role in the US government”.

“Reform UK does not endorse what he said but does believe in free speech.” But the obvious question lingers: if you don’t endorse his views, why place him on your main stage? Why risk association with quackery?

This is not just a sideshow. Reform is trying to convince voters it is ready for power. Yet the decision to indulge cranks undermines that message. If the party cannot distinguish between energy and eccentricity, its credibility collapses before it’s near government.

There were a number of former Tory MPs at Reform’s conference, including spottings of Jonathan Gullis, Gary Sambrook and Nicola Richards, alongisde recent defector Nadine Dorries – but one of the most well-known will have been Jacob Rees-Mogg.

His own daughter, Mary, has made the move over to Reform, but the former MP and Brexit minister maintains that “when I am gathered to my maker on my tombstone it will say ‘here lies a Tory’”. If Reform’s chairman is to be believed, at least he’ll be able to communicate the good conservative word from the grave.

The main message it seemed Rees-Mogg wanted to communicate was his desire to bring the right together. “I think the right needs to reunite. I think Conservatives and Reform need to come together,” he said.

It is not an uncommon opinion, including within Westminster. Shadow justice secretary and one-time leadership contender Robert Jenrick was once caught saying he was determined “to bring this coalition together” in leaked comments, but went on to rule out a Tory pact. Allies of Jenrick at the time argued his comments were intended to be about voters, rather than parties. Still there are those that want to see the talents of the right come together.

Farage may, of course, not want a pact. Dorries’ words might suggest that is not an option. “The Conservative Party is dead,” Reform’s newest member declares – and why would you do business with a dead party?

Many Tories wouldn’t stomach it anyway. As Dorries’ defection was announced a former MP on the 2019-24 WhatsApp group messaged: “I dare say that a fair few of us couldn’t put our hand on our heart to say we hadn’t thought about Reform, but this kind of helps put that crazy idea to bed!”.

The party’s policy illustrated its issues, with a series of U-turns during its 48-hour conference. Farage’s claim that he would “stop the boats within two weeks of taking office” was hastily rephrased to mean within two weeks of legislation – an entirely different proposition. Richard Tice, the deputy leader and potentially would-be Chancellor, hinted that their £90 billion tax-cutting plan may not be viable after all. And on education there was nothing: no speech, no focused panel.

For all their woes, the Conservatives know the grind of government. They know that education matters, that economic policy cannot be built on wishful thinking and that placing conspiracy theorists on the platform is probably not the best idea. Reform, by contrast, still seems hooked to the spectacle.

The Tories need to learn that is not without force, however. Reform has energy and a sense of narrative; the party tells a story in a way the Conservatives have lately neglected. Its conference attracted ordinary people at a time where the Tories are worried about their own MPs turning up.

If the future of the right is to be found in a new political configuration, it must be built on coherence rather than noise. The right may well evolve, but at its heart should be the business of governing, not hinge on ghosts, glitter and quack doctors.