Shock and awe from the cult of Tommy

Published on Sunday 22 April 2007 01:26

WE'RE half an hour into Tommy Sheridan's hypnotic speech at a Solidarity public meeting in the south side of Glasgow when the glazed look in his eyes momentarily clears. Suddenly he seems to realise how long he has been shouting at us.

"Brothers and sisters," he growls, "I've spoken for far too long. I'm going to finish and take some questions. But before I finish, let's highlight the two different worlds we have here..." Ten minutes later, following a high-decibel diatribe that runs from last year's Farepak scandal through City fat-cat bonuses to the war in Iraq, he does finish.

The room breaks out into a din of applause, whoops and cheers. It's like a Scientology convention with Sheridan in the Tom Cruise role. I thought the point of a public meeting was to provide a chance for politician and electorate to interact but the debate I'm witnessing here is suspiciously one-sided. Not that his awe-struck audience seems to mind.

"We're adopting the same line as Gordon Brown," Sheridan bellows, over the wailing of a rudely-awakened baby. "When he was asked in 2003 after the invasion of Iraq: 'How much will the war cost?', Brown said: 'As much as it takes'. Brothers and sisters, how much will it cost us to eradicate poverty? AS MUCH AS IT TAKES!"

This produces almost as much of an ecstatic response as his words on Solidarity's proposed income-based local tax: "If the Brian Souters and the Tom Farmers of the world decide because we're going to tax them a bit more that they're no longer patriotic, that they're going to leave Scotland - then we'll arrange for their passports to be delivered as soon as possible!"

If the 40-odd people gathered in Langside Halls are anything to go by, the lurid stories around the defamation case Sheridan won against the News of the World last year have not left even a speck of dirt on the Solidarity leader. Perversely, the allegations of illicit affairs and visits to swingers' clubs may even have beefed up his cult status.

En route to the public meeting, the taxi driver sighs with appreciation when I tell him where I'm going. "You've got to give it to him," he says, adding that although he questions Sheridan's evidence in the court case, "at least he's a man with an opinion."

Tonight, the sole mention of the defamation case is by Langside Solidarity council candidate Martin Frain, who speaks before Sheridan. Even then it is flagged up only as another of his victories in the fight against capitalism. "Solidarity is led by the finest politician in the country," announces Frain. Seeing as the crowd - an across-the-board mix of students, pensioners, Muslims, NHS nurses and socialists - is largely made up of Solidarity members, council candidates and party supporters, they're not going to bombard him with difficult questions or head outside to bug Tommy's truck (the campaign van, known in the party as their weapon of mass communication).

Formed following Sheridan's acrimonious split with the SSP in the wake of the court case, the breakaway party needs to secure roughly 6% of the vote in all of Scotland's regions in order to elect their target of eight Solidarity MSPs. A couple of supporters tell me that people are underestimating how much the party has grown in seven months and everyone seems confident Sheridan will be re-elected.

Though Solidarity has had to defend itself against the charge of being a one-man band (though it is usually that same one man doing the defending), it is clear Sheridan is the reason people have come here tonight. "He's very good," says employment rights worker Niamh O'Toole. "I think his record speaks for itself." When I ask why she chose Solidarity over the SSP she is quick to answer: "Politics. I'm not really going to say any more about it because it's water under the bridge. I'm interested in what's going on now."

Before the meeting starts, I hang around outside with a reporter and camera crew from Channel 4, who are waiting to interview Sheridan. Tommy's truck has been circling the community hall for some time now but it turns out that the bombastic voice emanating from it comes not from the man himself, but a recorded message from the party election broadcast.

It looks not unlike an ice-cream van, in fact, though the wares it peddles are anti-war and anti-Trident messages as opposed to orange lollies and Mr Whippy. "It's the only one like it," the driver tells me proudly.

Sheridan shows up late, and immediately launches into the Channel 4 interview, metamorphosing into the charismatic and booming orator so quickly and effectively that it is actually a little terrifying to witness. So well-oiled and compelling is this political machine, there is something vaguely inhuman about it.

Afterwards, he introduces himself to me with a very lengthy and very firm handshake. We start speaking about public meetings as a relic of the past and Sheridan says that by May 3 there will have been around 30 Solidarity public meetings. "Meetings like this are few and far between now," he says. "I challenge you to find a public Labour Party meeting or an SNP public meeting in the course of this election. They just don't do them any longer. They don't have to because they can go on the radio, they can go on the telly. We don't get on the radio or telly as often so we are forced to make a virtue out of necessity and use these meetings to engage with people."

We file upstairs and the meeting is opened by Esther Nixon, the council candidate for Drumchapel and Frain's partner. Frain speaks first, a long ramble read straight from a piece of paper perfectly paving the way for the prowess of the party leader.

Sheridan begins by promising he will try and be brief "because there is far too little engagement, isn't there?" Most of the rest of the meeting is taken up with his thundering voice. The six questions at the end on subjects including the EU, housing and the NHS seem less about engagement and more about giving Sheridan another chance to speak, an opportunity which he readily takes up. He asks for each person's name and then addresses them repeatedly while answering their question. All in all it's a pretty slick performance.

At the end of the meeting Sheridan is pleased with the way it has gone. "There were a lot of new faces and we got a really positive reception," he enthuses. I ask him whether he always ends up speaking this much at public meetings, and he takes it well. "I speak too much," he agrees. "I really should speak less but I can't help it, you know? I just jump in."