Theatrics at the NEC: Politics as Prime-Time
On a damp Birmingham morning, the National Exhibition Centre—the glass-and-concrete cathedral for conferences of every stripe—was buzzing like a festival ground rather than a political assembly.
Stalls hawked turquoise jerseys, enamel badges and glossy leaflets while conference-goers queued for coffee beneath banners that unfurled the party slogan in bold type: Make Britain Great Again. Sparks of staged pyrotechnics and strobe lights threw the hall into moments of wrestling-arena drama as speakers strode onstage to pulse-pounding music.
Jeremy Kyle, known to many as a television provocateur, prowled the aisles in the new role of roving reporter, his microphone prodding delegates and party heavies alike. He was one of the weekend’s most literal reminders that this was as much a media event as a policy convention—a show designed to be filmed, clipped and shared.
Song, Sequins and a Singing Mayor
There were lighter, stranger moments too. Andrea Jenkyns—recently elected Mayor of Lincolnshire—took the stage in a glittering sequin jumpsuit and sang a song called “Insomnia,” which she co-wrote two decades ago. Not everyone in the crowd rose to their feet in applause for the vocal performance, but the sight of a local mayor closing a political conference with a rendition of the national anthem felt like a deliberate recalibration of how politics can be staged.
“It was bonkers,” said one delegate, an exhausted but smiling man from Stoke. “You come for speeches, you get a pop concert and a singalong. That’s politics now—if you can’t get people’s attention, you’re not speaking to them.”
Showmanship Meets Messaging
If there was a theme to the weekend, it was that Reform UK has embraced spectacle as a tool. The turquoise jerseys—selling briskly—were intentional theater: a visual shorthand that recalled the red MAGA caps of America’s populist moment. It was an aesthetic choice with a political message; style here is policy-adjacent.
“It’s about creating an identity,” a campaign strategist said, asking not to be named. “You make a brand people can wear, and they do your thinking for you on the train home.”
Discipline, Discord and a Return to the Fold
But underneath the glitter, the conference also exposed the cleavage between brand and governance. Party leader Nigel Farage used his closing speech to remind members that, for all the razzmatazz, discipline matters. It was a pointed note after a year in which the party weathered public rows with former insiders—most memorably a fallout with ex-chair Zia Yusuf and public spats that spilled onto social media.
Mr Yusuf, who had publicly criticized a parliamentary intervention by the party’s Sarah Pochin, later returned to take a leading policy role. The episode, observers say, is emblematic of a party still trying to reconcile insurgent energy with the day-to-day business of political management.
“You can’t run a movement like a band,” a former local councillor grumbled. “At some point someone has to do the boring, hard graft of policy and compromise. Otherwise it’s just noise.”
Policy, Promises and the Limits of Spectacle
The weekend also revived controversial policy headlines. The party’s pledge to deport up to 600,000 asylum seekers—an idea that would require leaving the European Convention on Human Rights, its backers say—remains a flashpoint. Critics point out that the ECHR is a core element of the Good Friday Agreement: removing the UK from the convention would have implications for peace arrangements in Northern Ireland and require complex renegotiation.
“Sovereignty talk without logistics is fantasy,” said Dr. Amina Hassan, a lecturer in international law. “Rights conventions are enmeshed in treaties across borders. You can’t just sign out of one document and expect the rest of the architecture to stand unscathed.”
When questioned, Mr Farage insisted the policy was workable, arguing the ECHR clause had been “tacked on” and would not derail peace accords. Opponents retorted that such assurance underestimates legal pathways, diplomatic consequences, and the practicalities of mass removals.
Immigration, Welfare and Fractured Lines
Inside the conference, voices were not monolithic. Sarah Pochin, one of the party’s MPs, told reporters she personally favors a policy that would limit access to benefits and NHS care for recent arrivals—a stance she acknowledged was not yet party doctrine. “If we’re serious about fairness, you have to start with residency,” she said in a conversation clearly meant for cameras.
These internal debates are signs of a party still constructing its playbook: bold headlines on the one hand, messy debates on the practical mechanics on the other.
Momentum, Money and the Lobbyists
Attendees noted an unusually robust presence of lobbyists and former Conservative operatives. “You wouldn’t see this at the Lib Dems,” one veteran of dozens of conferences observed. It’s a telling barometer: where money and influence shadow an event, people infer electability.
Some polls have suggested that Reform UK has been polling strongly in recent months—often cited figures place the party around 30% in certain national surveys since last year’s local elections—prompting nervous glances from Westminster. Whether that momentum can be sustained, and whether it translates into the concentrated support needed to form a government, are open questions.
Defections, Alliances and the Long Chess Game
High-profile defections—such as former Conservative ministers and aides flirting with the party—feed fears that Reform could become a de facto home for disaffected Tories. Nadine Dorries’ recent move and the presence of people like Jacob Rees-Mogg at fringe events underline a porous political landscape. “Politics is about coalitions,” the Rees-Moggs’ presence seemed to declare to anyone willing to read it.
But there is a paradox: absorbing more mainstream defectors risks diluting the insurgent identity that fuels Reform’s energy. If the party becomes seen merely as an offshoot of the Conservatives, it may lose its distinct appeal.
What Does This Mean for Britain—and for Us?
At the NEC, there was an unquestionable verve. Thousands left with new jerseys, brochures and a sense that they had witnessed something consequential. Yet spectacle is not governance. Glitter doesn’t draft legislation. Singalongs don’t negotiate treaties.
So ask yourself: are you drawn to politics that entertains or politics that deliberates? Is it comfort or competence you want in the places where policy meets people’s lives?
As Britain heads toward future elections, this conference may be remembered as the moment Reform UK graduated from insurgent movement to institutional contender. Or it may be seen as a high-water mark of performance politics—a clever, combustible mix of image, anger and improvisation that peaks before the hard reality of administration arrives.
“Momentum is fragile,” a campaign analyst said as the lights came down. “You can ride a wave of discontent—and sometimes that’s enough. But waves crash, and then you have to build a harbor.”
For now, the turquoise jerseys will take their place in cupboards across the country. The bigger questions—about policy coherence, international obligations, and the trade-offs between theatricality and governance—remain unresolved. And that uncertainty is where the real story lies.
